


A Time to Rest

by estelraca



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-22
Updated: 2017-09-22
Packaged: 2019-01-04 04:51:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 22,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12161892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/estelraca/pseuds/estelraca
Summary: The war is over, even if little brush fires of conflict still crop up.  When the Military Disarmament Act passes, Rogue One--suffering new scars from missions that shouldn't have to be--has to decide whether they're going to retire or stay in the fight.  For some it's an easier choice than for others.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Fight Back Fic Auction, for the prompt of Cassian and K-2 friendship with a nice side of hurt/comfort. Most of the political moves and the Act itself are taken from the extended universe.
> 
> Also to anyone who's followed my works or left comments or messages, apologies for being slow to respond to people. I was hospitalized for a bit and now have month-old infants that are making doing anything hard.

_Chapter One_

Cassian strides confidently down the hall, Imperial boots clicking loudly against the stone that has been used to repair the floor. They're good repairs, the stone polished to a shiny slickness, but the fact that it isn't Imperial standard is proof of the isolation Cinadar has been facing for the last eighteen months and of the creativity of their commander.

She should have surrendered. The Emperor has been dead for as long as Cinadar has been in isolation. What exactly does their commander hope to accomplish by refusing to surrender to the New Republic?

Other than what she already has, of course. The Jarellian wasn't commander of the Imperial forces stationed here when the Emperor fell at Endor. She had been fourth in command, but it hadn't taken long for all those above her to meet with accidents of various kinds.

Accidents of the kind that Cassian has been trying to arrange for Oothen for the last three weeks, to no avail. Most of the Imperial forces here have been more or less disheartened by the New Republic blockade and are ready to admit defeat. Any movement towards that end has been swiftly crushed by Oothen and her tendency to publicly and painfully execute anyone she finds guilty of 'considering treason'.

General galactic consensus on the Jarellians is that they're a brutal but not too brilliant race. Cassian wishes that were the case. If that were true, maybe he would be back with his team rather than trying one more insanely desperate assassination attempt.

No one aside from Oothen's most trusted advisors are allowed to carry blasters near her inner chambers, and there had been no way for Cassian to fabricate that kind of trust into his assumed identity. Four different attempts at poisoning have failed. Cassian is running out of time and options. Despite the risk inherent in taking on a Jarellian in close combat, it's clearly time to change his tactics up a bit.

Oothen welcomes him into her office with the kind of chilly dispassion that Cassian long ago learned to expect from high-ranking Imperial officers. It's strange, how well she's managed to mesh proper Imperial protocol with something akin to the monarchies that her people are known for on her home-world. Or perhaps not so strange—there isn't too much difference in the blind loyalty demanded in either system.

"Captain Lobor." Oothen gestures for him to move closer to her desk. Her skin is mottled purple and white, a striking color combination made even more eye-catching by the tentacles that serve as her mouth, the thick claws tipping her fingers, and the little armor spikes growing out of her elbows. "I hear you've been settling in quite well."

"I've been honored to get the opportunity to serve my commander directly." Cassian keeps himself at parade attention, allowing just the tiniest ingratiating smile to touch his mouth. Oothen probably doesn't find human males attractive, given the differences in their species, which eliminates one of his potential advantages; on the other hand she's undoubtedly learned how to read the signs of fawning, and Cassian has gotten very good at mimicking them over the years. "And I appreciate your willingness to engage with me in person, to help ensure I'm fulfilling my duties to your specifications."

"Wouldn't be much sense in promoting someone and then just watching them flail around." Oothen gestures him closer again. "Show me what you've managed to acquire."

Despite his desire to instantly move around the desk and towards her side, putting himself where he needs to be to execute his plan, Cassian instead moves to stand at attention in front of it. He slides the datapad he had been carrying across the desk to Oothen. "The first page here is a synopsis. So far I've found several areas where improvements could be made to aid efficiency and minimize risk. If you'll flip to the next schematic..."

Cassian gives his report with proper military precision, trying to demonstrate an eagerness to please. He's the lucky soldier, after all, called up from a boring and dead-end career to somewhere he can be of use and achieve something greater. (Oothen wants to use him as a spy against her own people, has bought his cover story as though it were some precious garment, and Cassian tries not to feel bitter that even when deep undercover his demeanor apparently screams _spy_.)

As they talk Cassian leans over the desk repeatedly, squinting and gesturing at the datapad. He becomes more bold in his motions as the meeting progresses, until eventually Oothen sighs and gestures to the space beside her. "Come here. Easier than one of us craning our necks attempting to see it."

Cassian does as bidden, feeling his pulse pound a bit harder in his wrists and throat. Soon, but not quite now; she's tense as he falls in at attention at her side, and a tense Jarellian is a more dangerous Jarellian.

The meeting continues without any move on Cassian's part, and thankfully without any interruptions. As they come to the third-to-last data set, Cassian eases himself backward, right hand groping for the weapon that he needs.

Oothen is engaged in trying to parse a graph that Cassian intentionally made obtuse, her face close to the datapad as one claw traces over the image. She doesn't notice Cassian slip the coated wire free, arranging it around the fingers of his right hand, reaching carefully across with his left—

He loops the garrote around the commander's throat before she notices anything is amiss and pulls it tight. The fact that she's sitting while he's standing puts her larger frame in the perfect position for him to apply necessary pressure, and he feels the garrote digging into flesh, _hears_ fluid start to spray onto the desk. Only the specially-made gloves he's wearing keep his own hands from being torn to shreds.

Oothen doesn't panic. He has to give her credit for that. She fights against him carefully, trying to open up her airway and staunch the bleeding; when that proves futile, she reaches for a button that is clearly some kind of alarm. Cassian braces himself, pulling hard to both hasten Oothen's demise and ensure she doesn't reach the button.

His attempt at moving her shifts his stance, allowing Oothen to slide her right elbow up against Cassian's arm. There's a tearing sound, a flash of agony, and Cassian's right arm immediately loses strength, his blood beginning to puddle with hers.

Not good. As soon as his hold is weakened Oothen moves again, despite the fact that her throat is a mess and she's clearly choking. Her left hand comes around, claws reaching for his face.

Abandoning the garrote, Cassian ducks beneath the Jarellian's grasping fingers.

If she hadn't tried to kill him with her bare hands, he would have died then. A blaster bolt through his chest or his skull would have killed him.

Instead he's able to grab the weapon from her hip, stumbling back away from his target. He doesn't aim well, and his first shot only cuts across her shoulder. He doesn't pause, though, and his second and third shots take her in the chest and the head respectively, ending the mission.

Well... completing the mission objective. Now he just has to figure out how to extract himself, because Jyn and the rest of Rogue One won't forgive him if he doesn't.

For a few seconds Cassian stands swaying above the Jarellian's corpse, his left hand pressed to the worst of the wounds on his right arm. His chest is bleeding, too, he notices hazily, but that bleeding doesn't have the speed or strength of the rush from his arm, so it takes lower priority. Does he try to contact K-2 first, or try to staunch the bleeding, and if he intends to go after the bleeding how? There's probably a first aid kit somewhere around here, but whether or not it has functional bacta patches... and every second that he wastes here increases the possibility of being discovered.

He's already not thinking clearly. He's losing blood too quickly. In a compromise between minimizing lost time and maximizing his chances of staying conscious to escape, Cassian uses a blade from Oothen's belt to cut a strip of her uniform free. Using a combination of careful maneuvering, his left hand, and his teeth, Cassian is able to fashion a tourniquet that slows the bleeding from a steady patter to a more manageable ooze.

His right hand is all but useless now, fingers alternately numb and tingling. Fumbling awkwardly at his right pocket with his left hand, Cassian manages to pull out the communication's mic that lets him speak with K-2SO. "Kaytoo?"

"Here." K-2's response is immediate.

"Mission complete." Cassian slumps against the nearest wall as he makes the report. Now even if he doesn't make it back, K-2 will hopefully be able to deliver the important things—news of Oothen's demise, an updated roster of soldiers and log of functional Imperial equipment that will help the New Republic claim this recalcitrant little planet. "Time to e-extract. Code... code Scarif."

"What—" K-2's exclamation contains a combination of fear and outrage.

Cassian doesn't let the droid continue. K-2 knows what that code means—that Cassian is hurt, that he's not sure he's going to be able to extract himself properly. Just like on Scarif, it means his life is in the hands of fate and those around him. Forcing himself to straighten—forcing his eyes to stay open, though it seems like a delightful idea to just collapse against the wall and let the world drift away—Cassian heads for the door. "You have... a ship secured?"

"Like we arranged. Cassian, how badly—"

Cassian smiles, though he shouldn't. It's just... _good_ , to hear his name again. To know that if he survives the next hour or so he's going to be heading back to rebellion—no, _New Republic_ headquarters, where he can be Cassian Andor with Rogue One for a little bit.

Until he's needed again, at least. Until his talents for spying and sabotage and murder become more valuable than what he can bring to Rogue One, but that's all right. Soldiers do what they need to. "I'm going to try Route B-blue." His teeth are starting to chatter together, which isn't a good sign. He's going into shock, already, and he has about a third of a compound to cover if he wants to succeed in rendezvousing with K-2. "See you... shortly."

Shoving the little comm mic into his left pocket, Cassian scans his eyes over the room. He can't just walk out of here covered in blood. It won't take them long to figure out what happened. Though perhaps, if he can manage to hide the worst of the bloodstains and just move quickly, before anyone realizes that Oothen is dead...

It's so hard to think. Hard to plan, hard to move, hard to _act_ , but that's what's going to make the difference between him surviving this and not. Casting a careful look around the room, Cassian spies a uniform greatcoat hanging neatly by the door. The rank insignia make it clear that it's Oothen's, but if he just drapes it the right way—well, he can't think of anything better.

His right arm dangles loose by his side, and the jacket is too big, but at a cursory glance and if he manages to keep up his Imperial charade, it just might work.

Cassian doesn't give himself time to doubt. He just exits the room, setting off with his shoulders back and his head high. He's had plenty of time to explore various routes between parts of the complex, and the one he code-named Blue should give him the best chance of avoiding people while not slowing him down too much.

He gets two-thirds of the way there before trouble finds him. Close enough to start really hoping, really thinking that he's going to get away with this without too much trouble; far enough from his destination to know that his chances of surviving this have now virtually evaporated.

"Captain Lobor." The sergeant comes to attention when he sees Cassian. "Sir, if you have a moment—"

Cassian sees it in the young man's eyes the moment he realizes something isn't right. First there's puzzlement, Talor's gaze moving over the borrowed coat, snagging on the insignia; then horror, as he sees something at Cassian's right side that doesn't belong; then anger, and he takes a threatening step towards Cassian. "That's the commander's coat, Captain. What—"

Could Cassian have prevented the whole mess? If he had been able to hide his steadily increasing wooziness a bit better, if he had been able to keep a haughty rather than a pained look on his face, if he had moved faster...

He didn't, though, and now there's a man a good decade younger than him who hasn't lost a significant quantity of blood coming at him. Cassian's best ally is surprise, still, and he attacks before Talor is expecting it. His left fist lashes out, catching the younger man in the throat.

It keeps Talor from calling for assistance, but it doesn't drop him like Cassian had hoped. Lowering his head, the young man charges. His body slams into Cassian, rocketing them both back into the wall. Cassian's head strikes the metal hard, teeth snapping together, and the taste of blood fills his mouth even as his vision tunnels out to black, his body trying and failing to curl around the burning agony that his right arm and side have become.

Talor is fumbling with a comm device, his face swimming in and out of focus as Cassian struggles to hang onto consciousness.

A metal hand closes on Talor's shoulder, lifting the young man with crushing force and flinging him hard into the wall. When Talor crumples to the ground, he doesn't rise again, and Cassian can see that the young man's neck is bent at an unnatural angle.

Stupid. If Cassian's understanding things properly, the New Republic will have this planet under control within two weeks. Talor hadn't done anything unpardonable, to Cassian's knowledge. If the boy hadn't been so observant; if Cassian hadn't allowed himself to get hurt; if things had gone _differently_ , Talor could have—

"Cassian?" K-2's face hovers disconcertingly in front of Cassian's, golden eyes creating fractal patterns of light that Cassian spends far too much time watching.

With a sound that is suspiciously like a sigh, the droid grabs Cassian by the left arm, hauling him upright. "Are you capable of walking?"

"Shouldn't be here." Cassian resists the urge to shake his head, knowing it will make things worse instead of better. "You're supposed... to be with the ship."

"You should have been back five minutes ago." K-2 steers Cassian's stumbling walk, keeping a hand clasped tightly to Cassian's shoulder. "Given what you said, I needed to see what was happening."

"You need... to finish the mission." Cassian's vision starts to clear a bit as he leans against K-2, and he attempts to straighten himself, to look more like the officer he's supposed to be.

The officer he _is,_ except the military he's a part of isn't this one. It's just as legitimate now, though—is _more_ legitimate, the forces defending the proper government of the galaxy.

"You're listing." K-2's hand urges Cassian's body into a different angle. "And you're leaving a trail."

"Don't look at it and maybe no one else will, either." It's a terrible way to handle a problem, but Cassian isn't capable of coming up with something better right now.

They actually make it the rest of the way to the hangar without incident. Cassian even manages to stride past the guard and give a curt authoritarian nod, though he spends the next ninety seconds trying desperately not to walk into anything as his vision recovers from the motion.

Then they're at the shuttle that K-2 arranged as their escape. It's a small ship, but fast.

Cassian stumbles trying to go up the ramp, and only K-2 grabbing him by the shoulder again and hauling him forward allows him to make it into the copilot's seat. Raising his left hand to touch the controls—his right is numb and useless—Cassian tries to make sense of what he's seeing. His hand doesn't seem to want to sit still, shaking visibly, in a way that will make it hard to actually steer the ship. "I'm... not sure... I'll be much h-help f-flying."

"You're never as much help as you could be when something stressful is happening." Lights begin flaring to life on the console as K-2SO urges the ship into wakefulness. "All you need to do is stay there and keep breathing, Cassian. I can handle the rest of it."

They're simple enough orders, and Cassian straps in and huddles back in his seat, pulling his right arm close to his body.

It isn't until K-2 is halfway through requesting permission for them to depart that Cassian realizes how terrible an idea it is to allow the droid to handle this part of the mission. He jerks into a more alert position, adrenaline clearing his thoughts briefly. If he can manage to cut in, to fix K-2's inability to lie even if their lives depend on it—

"—cleared to leave, Shuttle G-9."

Cassian stares, trying to decide if he heard the words correctly.

K-2SO somehow manages to look decidedly smug as he flips off the comm unit and eases the ship into flight. "I was clever. There was no lying involved. It makes things simpler that way."

"It does." Smiling tiredly at his companion, Cassian allows himself to slump back into the seat. He can feel his heartbeat in his throat again, fast and fluttery. "Thanks."

K-2 is focused on piloting. "We should be approaching the New Republic blockade in approximately eleven minutes and sixteen seconds. In the meantime there are bacta patches in the first aid kit, if—"

"Shuttle G-9, you are to return to base at once." There's a tremor to the communication officer's voice, a hint of combined fear and anger that lets Cassian know Oothen's body has been found. "If you don't return, you will be considered hostile and acted upon as such."

A squadron of TIE fighters rises up from Oothen's base, and Cassian tries to fumble his left hand toward weapon's control. If he can help even a little bit—

An explosion rocks the shuttle. The safety restraint digs into Cassian's wounded arm, and the world dissolves into a sea of black speckled with gold stars, far beyond Cassian's ability to affect.

XXX

Cassian finally succumbs to unconsciousness when warning shots rock the shuttle.

It's something K-2 has been expecting since he first retrieved the human. Cassian's right side is slick with his own blood when the greatcoat slips aside, and his lips have gone from pale to a grayish-blue hue that K-2 doesn't like over the course of their journey.

Another concussive blast rocks the shuttle, and K-2 does his best to steer their craft as quickly as he can towards the blockade. "How exactly am I supposed to turn around and surrender when you're attempting to murder us before most people could even parse what's happening? You are all trigger-happy idiots, and I will be very glad to see you pay the price for it."

He will be happy to be _done_ , to be able to assess Cassian's injuries properly and ensure they're not actually life-threatening. Though give Cassian's current consciousness status, there's not much to be gained by telling him exactly how dangerous each of his injuries might be...

K-2 devotes most of his processing power to evasive maneuvers, but that still leaves him with enough awareness to track Cassian's status. The human doesn't stir, staying slumped in his restraints. His breathing becomes steadily more labored, faster and shallower than it usually is, and K-2 becomes more worried with every change.

If Cassian doesn't make it—

"Nonsense." There's no reason for K-2 to speak out loud, no one but himself who can hear, but he does so anyway. "We have been through many difficult situations before. Standard probability calculations have long since ceased working around Rogue One. So though I _should_ tell you that our chances of survival have become quite negligible, Cassian, I feel that precedent speaks otherwise."

How long can they continue to defeat the odds, though? How many times can Cassian gamble his life and walk away? K-2 always makes it a point to let Cassian know when something is _particularly_ prone to failure, but it usually doesn't make a difference in how Cassian acts.

They usually don't have a _choice_ , because it's either take the risk or see the mission fail. And Cassian won't allow failure once he accepts a mission. Sometimes it's been worth it—despite everything, Scarif was more than worth it. But other times... the Emperor is dead, the Empire falling into tattered ruins. Why do people like Oothen cling to its sinking corpse?

Might as well ask why Cassian clung so fiercely to the rebellion even in its darkest days, K-2 supposes. Though he can _answer_ that. Cassian believes in the New Republic. He believes in freedom, and choice, and has _hope_ even when it seems like everything is falling apart. What hope drives the pilots of the TIE fighters still attempting to murder them now?

K-2 assesses their progress and decides they've come far enough to warrant calling for assistance. Flipping to the right frequency, he hails the blockade fleet. "This is Fulcrum reporting in. Mission complete. Coming in with requested data, but we have a few unfriendly escorts on our tail. Also Colonel Andor is going to require medical assistance as soon as possible."

The next seventy seconds are spent trading signs with a communication's officer that K-2 might have to ram into a wall if he ever meets her in person. Eventually his identity—well, Cassian's identity, and K-2's affiliation with him—are confirmed. Less than a minute later a swarm of X-wings rocket out from the blockade fleet, and K-2 relaxes slightly. That should take care of their followers, at least.

Which gives him a chance to do what he's wanted to do since they first boarded the shuttle. "Rebel fleet, this is Fulcrum again. Requesting a tow in—pull us by tractor beam. I'm going to do what I can to ensure Colonel Andor survives to receive medical treatment."

K-2 ignores the response to his communication. Well, that's not _quite_ true. He listens for anything that could actually be important, but mainly it seems to be complaining, so he sets the shuttle on autopilot and stands.

Unstrapping and picking up Cassian is easy. The human's body is slack and limp, not responding at all to the jostling.

One of the things K-2 had been careful to check when choosing their shuttle was the status of the first aid kit. Many of the kits on Cinadar have been ransacked over the duration of the blockade, and K-2 had wanted to ensure if he needed it he would have access to medications.

He's glad of that now. Cassian's right arm has been flayed open down to the bone. A crude tourniquet has probably kept him from bleeding to death, but the wounds had evidently continued to ooze, only stopping when K-2 puts a bacta patch on them. Less impressive gashes cover the ribs on Cassian's right side. K-2 considers for a moment and then slaps a bacta patch over those, too. The medics will likely remove them shortly, but anything that might help lessen the severity of the shock Cassian's body is currently fighting is worth it.

Cassian's skin is cold and clammy to the touch, a lack of blood-flow changing his complexion to an unhealthy dusky grey. K-2 assesses his human's vitals, noting the thready pulse, the far-too-fast heart-rate, the steadily shallower and faster breaths. If he waits a few minutes, a proper medic will be able to decide what Cassian needs.

If he waits a few minutes, Cassian might be dead.

The first aid kit contains several small syringes of a blood substitute, and K-2 injects them all into Cassian.

"If it makes things worse, I'm sorry." Stroking a hand through Cassian's hair, K-2 watches closely for any signs of change in Cassian's condition. "But I would rather lose you from doing something than watch you die and do nothing. Not that I wish to watch you die. I had begun to think... well. We have been spending too much time with Bodhi. I had begun to imagine things that I should know aren't a part of our lives."

Cassian doesn't respond, of course. Humans who are teetering on the edge of death from hypovolemic shock don't tend to do much.

K-2 keeps talking anyway. Cassian has been undercover for three weeks. In the grand scheme of things, compared to other missions he's undertaken, it's not that long. But K-2 knows Cassian, and he knows it's long enough for Cassian to start missing his name, the sounds of his team, everything that makes him _Cassian_ and not whatever identity he is having to bury himself in.

If the only thing K-2 can do to offer him comfort is provide that context, that touchstone, then that's what K-2 will do.

He doesn't stop speaking even when he feels the _thump_ of the shuttle being dragged into place aboard one of the New Republic ships. He just lowers his voice, gathers Cassian into his arms, and heads towards the shuttle ramp.

Once Cassian is in the hands of the medics, K-2 will have to contact the rest of Rogue One and let them know what's happened.

That is, perhaps, going to be the hardest task he's had to accomplish so far.

XXX

When K-2 returns to the ship's med bay after contacting all the members of Rogue One, he finds it in an uproar.

K-2 assumes, at first, that there has been an altercation with Cinadar forces. It would make sense, after all—there had been TIE fighters on their tail, and it's possible some of the blockade's defenders had taken injuries fending them off. He tries to keep himself out of the way, up against a bit of unused bulkhead, scanning over the tops of the organics and medical droids as he looks for Cassian.

He doesn't spot Cassian, which doesn't cause him immediate concern. Given how rough Cassian's condition had been, they may have gotten him stable and then dumped him immediately into a bacta tank.

He doesn't see any other injured, either, and that causes him to pause and re-evaluate what might be happening. Has there been a threat? Are they _preparing_ for a battle rather than recovering from one? What—

A Zelosian, his species obvious to K-2 both because of the bright green eyes and the smear of green blood on his lips, stops in front of K-2. "You're the enforcer droid K-2SO?"

K-2 tilts his head down to study the male. "I am. Who are you, and how did you recognize me?"

"Not too many Imperial droids wandering around med bay." Wiping his hand across his mouth again, the Zelosian removes the last traces of his blood. "I'm Doctor Killan Dor. I... don't suppose you've seen Colonel Andor in the last ten minutes?"

For a few seconds K-2SO just stares down at the Zelosian, processing and reprocessing the words, trying to make sense of them. Then his hands are moving, grabbing Dor by the edges of his uniform shirt and hauling him up into the air so he dangles in front of K-2's optics. "You _lost_ Cassian?"

Dor struggles briefly, then apparently decides dangling calmly is the better choice of action. Which it _is_ , if only because it decreases K-2SO's desire to shake him by approximately thirty-seven percent. "We didn't _lose_ him, he escaped. _How_ he escaped I have no idea, he's barely _conscious_ , but apparently—"

Resisting the urge to strangle the male, K-2 instead lowers him back to the ground. "Tell me exactly what happened."

"You brought him in." Dor gestures towards one of the bunks. "We got him stable. When I went to prep him for the bacta tank, though, he punched me in the face. By the time I could see clearly, he was gone."

"I said _exactly_ what happened." K-2's exasperation shows in his voice as he looms over the Zelosian. "What medications did you give him?"

"I don't see why—"

K-2 shifts just slightly, hovering his head above Dor while his torso moves into a far more threatening position.

"We gave him hemoplasm, atropine, and helicodone." Dor glares up at K-2.

"And that's why you have a problem." K-2 doesn't even try to keep the disgust from his voice as he turns away from the doctor, optics scanning the medical bay. If he were a disoriented, frightened spy suffering from severe blood loss and possible hallucinations, where would he try to go? "Cassian reacts badly to helicodone. He has ever since Scarif."

K-2 hadn't been there to watch the progression where Cassian went from responding normally to the medication to having severe side effects. He had been a set of data chips at the time, unable to accept input or output. It was only after the rest of Rogue One revived him that he heard how the pain medication they had used to try to keep Cassian comfortable—the only one they had available in large enough supply, given the battle of Yavin that followed so close on Scarif's heels—eventually started causing 'untoward side effects'.

"What?" The doctor frowns, pulling up Cassian's chart on his datapad. "Nothing came up as an alert. It should have—"

"You see it now, yes?" K-2 takes the abrupt cessation of noise from the Zelosian as proof that he's actually reading the little pop-up warning on Cassian's chart. "It's not a high-priority alert because it won't kill him, just causes severe disorientation and sometimes hallucinations. So you _can_ use it, if it's all that's available, but it's advised _not_ to use it if it can be avoided."

Dor is silent for several seconds, pacing at K-2's side as K-2 continues his perusal of their surroundings. "We need to update the interface. To try to keep things like this from happening. It's not like a shortage of medical supplies is a common problem now."

If K-2 thought it would help, he would have the warning shoot off little fireworks every time it pops up. As it is, he suspects there will be potential problems of this sort for as long as Cassian serves. Perhaps he'll just have to start insisting he stay at Cassian's side every time he's in medical. "Give me ten minutes to find him. If someone else corners him, it could be dangerous for both your staff and Cassian."

"If we don't find him quickly—" Dor looks up at K-2's face-plate. "All right, but I need to examine him again as soon as you've found him. Preferably _without_ getting punched in the face."

K-2 nods amiably, though he secretly wouldn't mind Cassian doing a bit more damage to people who can't accurately complete their jobs.

XXX

Cassian wedges himself more firmly into the storage compartment, his useless right arm tucked carefully against the wall. He doesn't know where he is. He doesn't know what's happening. All he knows is that he's hurt, and his team isn't here.

K-2 isn't here.

He was undercover. He thinks. Maybe. It's hard to _remember_ , hard to string together a timeline that makes sense, but he's _mostly_ certain he was undercover. Which means that the people holding him are probably Imperials, and that means he needs to get away.

It would be easier to get away if his vision weren't so blurry and he didn't feel so weak. He doesn't think he made it very far—three hundred, four hundred meters—before he was having so much trouble breathing and walking he had to find a place to hole up. The uniform jacket he 'borrowed' from off the end of a medical cot doesn't fit very well, and it chafes against the bacta patches on his arm and chest, but at least it let him blend in a little better than he would have otherwise.

Is he on a ship? He thinks he might be on a ship. There's a faint vibration through the walls and floor, a noise too low-pitched for human ears to pick up. Why would he be on a ship? His mission was on a planet, he thinks. Did his discovery prompt some kind of movement? Has he made things harder than they need to be for the rebellion?

He can't allow himself to be interrogated. That's not where the injuries came from, is it? No. No, he got those fighting someone. _Killing_ someone, he thinks, and it had been part of the mission.

A mission he knew he wouldn't be able to complete once he was injured, and he should have just taken care of things then. Without his team, there isn't going to be a rescue. This isn't like Scarif. This is like so many times _before_ , where he lives and dies by his own choices and strength, and this time he might not be strong enough.

He tries to fumble at his right boot with his left hand, realizing only after he feels his own toes that both his boots are gone. That's not good. His lock-picks are in there as well as the poisons, and without them his chances of escaping are much slimmer.

Though with the way the world is spinning, shimmering points of light exploding in the darkness of his hide-out, Cassian doubts he'll need either the lock-picks or the poison.

Jyn is going to be so furious with him. Bodhi will be devastated. Baze will be angry. Chirrut... Chirrut will say that Cassian's gone to be one with the Force, and he will mean it, his faith carrying him through yet another bout of grief.

Hopefully all of them will remember to check in on and take care of K-2.

Resting his head against his knees, Cassian focuses on just breathing, waiting for a different kind of darkness to claim him.

XXX

It only takes K-2 four minutes to locate Cassian. He knows from Cassian's physical condition that his human couldn't have gone far, and there are only so many places that a human can fit.

He hears Cassian's labored breathing through the door before he opens it. He settles down as much as he can, in front of and slightly to the side of the door, trying to make himself look less intimidating.

When he opens the door, Cassian lashes out with a scanner. If K-2 were organic, the blunt force of the attack or the small, sharp prongs could have caused some minor damage—enough to buy Cassian time to run. As it is the device skitters off K-2's arm, dropping to the floor as Cassian tries to press himself deeper into his hiding place.

"Cassian." K-2 speaks softly, not certain how well Cassian's auditory processing is working. He can tell by the way Cassian's pupils are blown wide, not reacting at all to the light, that the human isn't seeing things clearly. "It's me. Attacking me is foolish and counter-productive."

Cassian's lips are slightly less grey than they had been, but his complexion is still far too pale, and it takes almost twenty seconds for him to process the words.

It's twenty seconds during which K-2 stays still, ready to move if he needs to—if Cassian attempts to escape or to injure himself. He doesn't try to pull Cassian out of his hiding place, though, not willing to frighten his human more than need be.

"Kay..." Cassian's body practically collapses forward, seeming to fold in on the central axis as he reaches towards K-2 with his left hand. "Kaytoo?"

"That's right." Taking Cassian's hand in his, K-2SO tugs firmly, pulling Cassian fully into the light.

Cassian goes limp, and K-2 takes that as an invitation to scoop him up. "Where..." Cassian's voice is a rough whisper, his eyes already half-lidded. On the plus side the helicodone seems to be doing its job of keeping pain under control, because the jostling of K-2 lifting and carrying Cassian doesn't cause him to pass out this time. "Mission... I thought..."

"You completed the mission." K-2 speaks firmly, hoping that if he's forceful enough Cassian's mind will be able to hold onto and process the information.

"Completed..." Cassian relaxes even further, his eyes closing and a slight smile playing across his face. "We..."

"Yes. We completed the mission." K-2 quickens his pace, finding and fixing the nearest medical personnel with a fierce glare. He doesn't like the way Cassian's breathing is still labored, or the color of his lips. "Now we are on a New Republic ship, and they need to treat you for your injuries."

Cassian is quiet when K-2 sets him down, seeming half-asleep; he's not quiet when the medics try to treat him, fighting until K-2 grabs both his hands and pins them above his head. Whether it's the stress of the fight overtaxing his oxygenation ability, the concussion that the medics are muttering about, the helicodone reaction, the pain from his right arm being moved, or some combination of those factors, Cassian is unconscious again within seconds.

It gives the medics time to do what they need, getting Cassian stabilized again and prepped for the bacta tank.

K-2SO stays as close as he can to Cassian's side the entire time, wanting to make sure nothing else goes wrong and hoping that when Cassian wakes, a friendly face might help keep him calm.


	2. Chapter 2

_Chapter Two_

Jyn plows her way through the corridors of the New Republic's shiny new military base. She's not sure whether her reputation precedes her, whether the scowl she's undoubtedly wearing is discouraging interactions, or whether everyone's just so busy in their own tasks that they have no attention left to pay to the small angry woman who clearly knows where she's going.

It's probably the latter. Things have been starting, slowly but surely, to wind down. It seems that as they do, though, everyone becomes more determined to be useful—more determined to prove their importance and loyalty to the New Republic.

At the moment Jyn doesn't give two snake's tails for the New Republic. All she cares about is reaching her destination.

The medical wing is clearly marked. Most areas are clearly marked, with helpful little signs, even. It's such a far cry from the rebel outposts that she grew used to that Jyn sometimes finds it unreal, at other times disconcerting, at other times downright annoying.

The doors don't open fast enough for her, and Jyn slams her palm against the metal before it's completely out of reach. It's so _stupid_. More of them could have gone down to Cinadar. There was no _reason_ for them to separate the team. All right, sure, maybe it would have been hard to fabricate identities for all of them, but sending _just_ Cassian and K-2—well, what happened speaks for itself.

Jyn glances around at the austere, sterile environment. There aren't any exposed wires, no complicated hodge-podge of repairs and reinforcements like she's used to. Everything is state of the art, pristine and perfect, designed for aesthetics as much as for functionality.

She doesn't care about any of that right now. "If anyone knows where—"

Arms wrap around her, hold tight to her. They're familiar arms, which is the only reason Jyn doesn't deck the man. Turning around, Jyn hugs Bodhi in return. "Where is he?"

Bodhi winces, making a hushing motion with his right hand. "He's this way. He hasn't been out of the bacta tank for long—about five minutes."

Jyn's jaw clenches tight, but she gives a curt nod and lowers her voice to a level where she and Bodhi can have a private conversation. "He's awake?"

After a second's hesitation Bodhi shakes his head. "He's... well, he's kind of responded to stimuli a few times, but he hasn't actually regained consciousness. It's all right, though. The medics think he will in the next hour or so."

The hasty reassurance doesn't actually make Jyn feel any better, and she follows Bodhi through the medical ward to Cassian's room.

He has a private room. Perks of being on the winning side, Jyn supposes. And it's not one of the rooms that has a clear wall to allow for easier assessment and response from the medical team, either, which means they really do think he's out of danger.

Cassian is lying very still in the center of the bed, clearly not having moved from where they placed him. His skin and lips are paler than normal still—K-2 had said that he lost a lot of blood—but his breathing is slow and steady. As she moves closer to the bed, Jyn can see that they haven't put a shirt on him yet.

Probably the better to see and assess his injuries, which is what Jyn proceeds to do. Pulling the sheet down, she turns Cassian's right wrist so that his palm is facing towards the ceiling. It allows her to see the inside of his arm, where the vein that was severed runs. Now there's just the faintest pale discoloration to the skin there.

They've gotten better at medical treatment over the years. With Cassian's chest bare, Jyn can see old injuries. The worst scars are from before she met him, but a few have been picked up over their years together. This, though... will this even leave a scar, when it's finished healing? Or will they just have to rely on their own memories to know where the injuries were?

Jyn's right hand covers a patch of thicker, darker skin on Cassian's side—where the blaster bolt that almost killed him at Scarif hit. Her left hand covers the faint lines on his arm, where he almost died trying to convince idiots that the war's already over.

"That..." Cassian's voice is a faint, rough whisper, his accent thick. "Tickles."

"Yeah?" Jyn lifts her eyes to meet his half-lidded ones, forcing a smile. "Can't be. I know how you react when someone really tickles you, and it isn't like this."

There's a slight delay, but Cassian eventually smiles back at her, the expression still woozy and hazy. His gaze begins flicking around the room, though, cataloging and assessing, doing everything a spy needs to do in order to ensure their survival in foreign territory.

Bodhi settles on the other side of Cassian's bed, picking Cassian's left hand up in his. "You're on Chandrila, at the military base there."

"Chandrila..." Cassian frowns, clearly at a loss as to how he made it from Cinadar to here.

Taking pity on him, Jyn fills in the missing time in the briefest way possible. "You were out for a while. Apparently your brain doesn't bounce back as well from oxygen deprivation or your body from severe abuse as they once did."

Cassian considers the information, expression closed, the spy's mask that he can still sometimes use to keep them at arm's length. "The mission? The blockade?"

Jyn's half-tempted to tell him it was a failure, that Cinadar is still refusing to negotiate and the blockade remains in place.

Before she can decide if that would be helpful, getting Cassian to rethink whether he needs to balance the entirety of the universe's future on his shoulders, Bodhi pipes in with the truth. "Cinadar surrendered thirty-six hours after you escaped. The blockade should end within the next few days."

A tired, pleased smile spreads across Cassian's face, and his eyes close, a tension Jyn hadn't even noticed dissipating. She strokes her fingers over the inside of his arm, over the scars-that-likely-won't-be, a silent apology for even considering lying about the cause to him.

"It really does tickle, you know." Cassian smiles, eyes opening again as he looks up at her. "Just not a lot."

"And you probably wouldn't appreciate anywhere _more_ ticklish right now." Jyn trails her right hand down Cassian's chest.

Bodhi clears his throat, glancing towards the door. Jyn rolls her eyes at him. It's not like they're unused to having to steal moments of quiet intimacy when they can find them, space usually at a premium on rebel bases. She desists, anyway, watching instead as Cassian very methodically moves each finger on his right hand.

Bodhi watches Cassian assess his hand, too, his eyes flicking from Cassian's fingers to his face. "You were worried they wouldn't work?"

"Thought I had some nerve damage, but apparently it was just the blood loss and the tourniquet." Cassian gives a little shrug. "Not that it would have mattered much. They're very good with the cybernetic nerve grafts now."

They've had a lot of veterans to practice on over the years. They've had a lot of _Cassian_ to practice on over the years, but Jyn keeps the bitter words locked behind her lips.

Levering himself up into a sitting position using his left arm, Cassian glances around the room. His voice is already steady, back to its usual soft cadence and accent. "Do you know how long they intend to keep me here?"

Jyn shakes her head. "Awake for five minutes and already planning a jailbreak."

"Not a jailbreak." Cassian frowns towards the door. "Just wanting to spend as much time with the team before it's time for another mission."

Bodhi's jaw tenses. "You deserve medical leave after this. Besides, there might not even _be_ missions that need you again."

Cassian glances at Jyn, eyebrows raised, a sad little smile on his lips. _You or me going to break it to him_ , that expression says, and Jyn doesn't know whether to be flattered that Cassian assumes she'll understand or horrified that she really does. "The Emperor's been dead for well over a year now."

"But the Galactic Concordance is less than a month old, and still fragile." Giving his head a little shake, Cassian arranges himself comfortably against the head of the bed, seemingly unconcerned by the lack of clothing on his upper body. "They'll still need people like us for quite a while yet."

"I'm not so sure." There's a stubborn set to Bodhi's expression, and Jyn thinks he would have argued more if Cassian hadn't just woken up. "But we'll see."

"We will. In the meantime..." Cassian swings his legs out from under the sheet, white trousers standing out stark against his skin. "Let's see about getting me out of here."

Jyn offers Cassian her hand, helping him to stand, since the alternative is to pin him to the bed. Perhaps, under other circumstances, she'd be tempted to, but she does have to agree with Bodhi that the medical setting kind of ruins the mood. "You know you've been conscious for less than ten minutes?"

"You know they used to shuffle us from the med bay into fighters."

"When we were under attack." Exasperation is clear in Bodhi's voice as he comes up on Cassian's other side.

Or when there was something they needed someone's particular contacts or skill sets for, and Cassian was one of the ones who sometimes ended up in that situation. Not often, though, and usually Jyn could finagle for more of the Rogue One crew to go with him when it did happen.

Just like she's going to ensure that the crew stays with Cassian over the next few days, burying him in the closest thing to _home_ he's ever known.

Maybe, if they do this often enough, one day he'll stop letting command take him away from them.

XXX

Bodhi watches Cassian where he's lounging on the bed, still fiddling with the fingers of his right hand. They have a small room all to themselves for their quarters. Privileges of rank and the almost-ended war, Bodhi supposes. Not that they really _need_ much room. The crew has gotten... close over the last six years. Even if Baze and Chirrut are assigned to the same room when they finally reach Chandrila, Bodhi suspects there will still be more beds than are strictly needed.

"Where were you and Jyn for the last three weeks?" Cassian tries to make the question casual, but there's a hesitance to the way he asks, as though afraid of what the answer will be.

As much as Cassian will head off on missions of his own, he always gets nervous when hearing that the others have been undertaking risky ventures without him. "They were busy but not bad for both of us. I just did some long shuttle runs. It was... really nice, not having to worry about getting shot down. At least, not much."

Cassian raises his eyes from his hand to Bodhi. "It felt more like how things are supposed to be?"

"It feels like what we've been fighting for." Bodhi picks his words carefully, wanting to impress upon Cassian just how _right_ it feels but without emphasizing how little experience Cassian has with anything approaching a normal life. "It feels like what the Empire tried to mimic. Like people just... having a life. Not perfect, not idyllic... there's so much recovery happening still, so much work to be done trying to staunch the damage the Empire inflicted. But... real and solid and _lasting_."

Silence descends between them, and Cassian's eyes have fallen to his hand again. Bodhi looks down at his own fingers, at the wrist hems of his New Republic flight suit. He's not explaining things right. He _never_ seems to manage to explain this right, and if he can't get Cassian to understand why a civilian life is _good_... how are they ever going to get Cassian to actually give one a try?

Because Bodhi can't do this forever. He can't spend the next twenty years worrying that _this_ time, Cassian isn't going to make it back. _This_ time, K-2 is going to be irreparably damaged, his memories lost. _This_ time, their family that survived against impossible odds is going to be fractured by the spectre of death that's haunted them for far too long.

Not when the world they've been fighting for is _here_ , sitting just outside their door, and all they have to do is reach out and grab it.

"What about Jyn?" Cassian's attempt at redirecting the conversation is obvious, but Bodhi lets him get away with it anyway.

"Jyn..." Bodhi can't help smiling. "Would you believe they're getting her involved with diplomatic missions?"

Cassian's right eyebrow arches up. " _Our_ Jyn? You're sure?"

"Absolutely." Bodhi's smile fades as he considers what he's heard, both from Jyn and from others. "She's actually pretty good at it, if you give her a decent chance. She knows how to articulate ideas, and she's good at mimicking the speakers in a given situation."

"And if negotiations fall through, she can always shoot the offending party in the head if it comes down to it?" Cassian's wry addition is made with a curious expression that Bodhi finds hard to read.

"Actually... somewhat yes?" Bodhi shrugs. "She does what's needed, and they've kept her orders pretty open-ended. I think so far she's only ended up shooting at one of the people she's supposed to be convincing to surrender, so that's actually a pretty good track record. Senator Organa's probably proud."

Cassian tilts his head a little bit. "Hm. Was it Organa's idea to start involving Jyn in missions like that in the first place?"

"I think so, but Jyn might know a little better."

A brief, amused smile flashes across Cassian's face. "It seems like the kind of thing Leia would do. She probably sees something of herself in Jyn. Try diplomacy, and if that doesn't work, be prepared to back up your beliefs with force of arms if need be."

Bodhi very much prefers it when force of arms are _not_ needed, but he's seen enough over the years to accept that sometimes fighting is necessary. Sometimes allowing horrors to go unchecked makes you just as culpable as the people committing them. But sometimes... sometimes you've done your part, and it's time for someone else to step up and take some of the responsibility. "Have you heard about the Military Disarmament Act?"

Cassian looks up at Bodhi, his body going very still, attention focused. "No. Should I have?"

"Well, you did just spend a few weeks on a blockaded planet with, I'd imagine, less than stellar intergalactic news coverage." Bodhi tries to smile, not liking how tense Cassian looks. "It's been debated in the Senate for the last three weeks, and everyone's pretty sure it's going to pass. Mon Mothma's given it her full support. Senator Organa had some hesitations to begin with, but seems to be on board now."

Moving to the edge of the bed, Cassian continues to watch Bodhi with alert, wary eyes. "What does it do?"

"Cuts the New Republic military strength. A lot." Bodhi shrugs again, trying to act like it doesn't matter, though he's been following the debates daily since they started. "It's a good-will gesture, partly. The Imperials are supposed to be disarming themselves, so we will too. Plus Mon Mothma says that if we're really going to be a democratic and just society, we need to cede to individual planets the right to—"

"How drastically are they planning on cutting it?" Cassian leans towards Bodhi.

"Uh... a few different figures were bandied about, but last I heard... ninety percent?"

Cassian is on his feet and pacing the confines of their room as soon as the words are out of Bodhi's mouth. For the first time the room feels too small, too cluttered, despite the fact that it only has their three small packs in it. " _Ninety percent?_ They're going to cut the military down to a _tenth_ of what it is?"

"Cassian—"

"We spent almost _three decades_ building this up. There are still dozens, maybe _hundreds_ of Imperial strongholds out there. I know Jakku was a major victory—a hard-fought one, but still—but just because we won there doesn't mean they can—"

" _Cassian_." Bodhi places himself in Cassian's path, reaching out to place a hand on Cassian's shoulder. At first Cassian flinches away from him, which is a _terrible_ sign, but a moment later Cassian's body relaxes slightly and he leans back into Bodhi's touch. Reaching up with his other hand, Bodhi traces the right side of Cassian's face, his fingers running gently through Cassian's once-more-neatly-trimmed beard. "It's okay. The New Republic wouldn't be thinking about doing this if it _wasn't_ okay now, would they?"

"The Senate's full of bureaucrats and politicians." Cassian's accent is thick, and Bodhi can feel a tremor starting in Cassian's shoulder, whether of anger or fear he can't tell.

"Come on, now. This is _Mon Mothma_ we're talking about." Bodhi tries to catch and hold Cassian's eye, to make sure Cassian really thinks about what he's saying. "She's been in this almost as long as you have, yeah? Do you really think she'd do something to sabotage what she worked so hard to create?"

"She was never a soldier." There's a bleak despair to Cassian's words, but the trembling eases a bit. "She fought hard, yes, and she understood that sometimes _actual_ fighting was needed, but she was— _is_ —at heart a pacifist."

"And Leia Organa?" Bodhi arches his eyebrows up. "Tell me _she's_ a pacifist."

"She's not a pacifist, no, but..." Cassian runs both hands through his hair, though he pulls his right one down to flex the fingers and stare at it a moment later, as though the action still doesn't feel quite right. "We've worked so hard for this, Bodhi. So many people have _died_ for this. To think that they might just give it all away..."

Pulling Cassian into a tight embrace, Bodhi tries once more to organize his thoughts. "People fought and died to bring down the Empire. A lot of _good_ people. And we've succeeded. But the war... it can't be allowed to drag on forever. If it does, then we're not creating the world that they fought for. We're just... marking time, trying to be better than the Empire, and that's _really_ a low bar to set."

Cassian's arms slowly find their way around Bodhi, returning the embrace. "If we try this and it's a trick... some kind of trap... if we let down our guard and something happens again..."

"If we don't... if we try to keep peace by sheer force of arms... that's not the hope you've fought for all this time. Sometimes we have to _trust_ people, Cassian. Sometimes we have to take risks, and not just with our lives." Bodhi whispers the words into Cassian's ear.

Before Cassian can answer the door to their little room opens and Jyn walks in, three plates of food balanced carefully in her arms. "Dinner is—what happened and do I need to be worried about it?"

Cassian separates himself from Bodhi, though his hand tangles with Bodhi's, fingers holding tight. "Bodhi was catching me up on recent events. Like the Military Disarmament Act."

Jyn winces. "Ahhh, yeah. Probably should have thought to tell you about that."

Cassian shrugs. "I'm... not sure there's much I can do about it, anyway. And besides... even if they do make drastic cuts, I doubt a team like ours will be towards the top of the list."

Jyn is still and silent for several seconds, and Bodhi remembers the handful of conversations they've had about what they'll do once the war ends. Were they just idle dreaming on her part, speculation that she didn't ever think would come to fruition? For Bodhi they had been lifelines to cling to, a reminder that the world didn't _always_ consist of the horrors that it became for the last six years.

Giving her head the tiniest shake, Jyn comes towards them, holding out a plate first to Bodhi and then to Cassian. "We'll see what happens and go from there."

Taking his meal and settling back down on the edge of his bed, Cassian nods. "Fair. No sense borrowing trouble that hasn't arrived yet. Thanks for getting dinner for us."

"I was passing through the cafeteria and they were getting everything out, so I figured might as well." Jyn shrugs. "What's more interesting is who else I passed on the way here."

"Oh?" Bodhi perks up, hoping he's right about the identities of the people. "Who?"

"Baze and Chirrut are back." Jyn grins. "They're trying to finagle a way to get their debriefing done tonight so they don't have to worry about it tomorrow, but they should be by afterwards."

A bright, pleased smile lights Cassian's face, and Bodhi has to resist the urge to lean forward and kiss him. "The whole team will be back together, then."

Jyn nods, settling down on Cassian's other side. "Everyone in one place, just like it's supposed to be."

Bodhi couldn't agree more with that sentiment, and he continues to hope—even knowing that Cassian likely won't agree with him—that one day they'll all be _safe_ in one place, no longer soldiers but a proper family.

XXX

Chirrut has trouble sleeping. The Chandrila base has aligned itself with the planet's day-night cycle, which is perfectly fine except for the fact that it's eight hours off from the day-night cycle Chirrut had gotten used to aboard ship with Luke.

The Jedi are rising again. Luke long since far surpassed anything that Baze or Chirrut could teach him, learning everything else that he needed from one of the scattered few surviving Jedi. Now... now he's going to do what he can to revive the Order, though perhaps not the Order as Chirrut and Baze have heard of it. How can it be? Luke is not like the Jedi who served in the past, and perhaps that isn't a bad thing.

What these new Jedi's relationship with the New Republic will be... that's been a matter of contention, both for Luke and for those working on the other side of the problem. Given an opportunity to testify and give his own opinion, as one of the few survivors of any organization associated with the Force, Chirrut had jumped at the chance. Though he grumbled about it, Chirrut thinks that Baze, too, enjoyed having the opportunity to speak his mind. What the results of their testimony will be, Chirrut can't say yet, but he has no doubt Luke will handle whatever the universe throws at him with grace and kindness.

The excitement and uncertainty doesn't help Chirrut sleep. Baze is resting quietly next to him, using his war-honed ability to sleep anywhere, anytime to advantage. Jyn and Bodhi are also sleeping soundly, Jyn hugging the pilot close to her.

Cassian isn't sleeping soundly. First Chirrut had heard the unmistakable sounds of Cassian disentangling himself from his companions and claiming a bed to himself, murmuring out excuses about his arm and side still feeling strange. For a few minutes after his move, while the others fell back asleep, Cassian had been still and quiet.

Now he's moving restlessly, and Chirrut isn't surprised when he hears the unmistakable sounds of bare feet trying to slip away unnoticed across the cool, smooth floor. Before the door has finished opening and closing Chirrut is rising to follow, placing a restraining hand on Baze's shoulder when his love attempts to rise as well. Sometimes surrounding Cassian with his team is the best way to help ground him; other times a private, quiet conversation is what he needs, and Chirrut suspects now is one of those times.

Chirrut doesn't hear anyone aside from Cassian in the hallway as he feels his careful way along the half-familiar corridors. This wouldn't have been the case on a ship, or on many of the rebel bases they served on. The rebellion couldn't afford to humor such simple things as keeping everyone on the same day-night cycles for many of their recruits, needing a constant and vigilant force, though they had done their best to accommodate biological needs.

A lot is going to change quickly, Chirrut thinks. A lot already _has_ changed quickly, as the universe has a tendency to do, but at least for now it seems like things are changing for the better.

"You didn't need to follow me, you know." Cassian's voice comes from just a meter or so in front of Chirrut.

"I know." Chirrut leans against his staff, wondering what kind of picture they'll make for anyone who comes by—both in just sleeping undergarments. "You didn't need to leave, you know."

"I know, I just..." Cassian sighs.

Chirrut quiets his breathing, reaching out to try to get a sense of Cassian where he rests in the flow of the Force. It's gotten easier with the team over the years, and Chirrut is relieved to sense only mild turmoil from his friend. Sometimes when Cassian returns from one of his solo missions the Force twines dark and thick about him, filled with all the horrors that he couldn't stop. "Did something happen during your mission?"

"Not really, no. Just..." Cassian hesitates, and Chirrut can hear him moving, adopting a more defensive posture. "K-2 killed a young man. To rescue me—to help me get out after I was injured. It's hardly the first time it's happened, and it probably won't be the last, but it felt... it felt like a waste."

"Because the war is supposed to be over?" Chirrut rests his head against his staff, keeping his voice calm and non-judgmental—asking Cassian to consider the problem and his reactions on his own rather than definitively supplying an answer.

"Because..." Cassian begins pacing again, a slow, controlled movement from one side of the corridor to the other. "Because I knew that if I succeeded, they would likely surrender. If he hadn't been so observant... if he hadn't been so loyal to a failed, vicious ideology... who knows what he could have become?"

"You mourn the lost potential." Chirrut knows that feeling well, though he has had precious few times when he could afford to indulge in compassion for the Imperials. Easier, simpler, more _survivable_ to simply kill them, jesting either during the fight or after with Baze.

Has Cassian ever expressed guilt or remorse for Imperials killed during his missions before? For civilians, yes; for contacts lost or abandoned or terminated for the good of the mission, oh yes; for his fallen fellow soldiers, most definitely; but for the enemy?

Times are changing swiftly indeed, and this is one change Chirrut thinks will be for the better for all of them. The Force connects all living things, after all, whether Imperial or Republic, and it can only be a good thing if the fighting has subsided to the point where good men can start recognizing that again. "Grief such as that does you credit, captain."

Cassian makes a soft, dismissive sound. "It's not _just_ that. It's... you've heard of the Military Disarmament Act, I'm guessing."

"Ah." Sighing, Chirrut straightens. "I have. I take it you hadn't until recently?"

"Bodhi told me about it today." Cassian goes still, even his breathing hard to hear over the background hum of the base. "It's... I don't know. It feels like it's too soon. Like it's too _dangerous_."

Chirrut could point out that the Emperor's been dead for a long time. He could point out that they have no unified Imperial enemy anymore, just a collection of would-be dictators and warlords who are attempting to use the power vacuum left after Endor and Jakku to create their own little realms. Instead he rocks back on his heels, his sightless gaze turned towards where he knows his friend's face is. "How long would be long enough for you to feel safe? How long would you keep the machinery of war running before being certain that it won't be needed again?"

Cassian doesn't answer, which is response enough for Chirrut to know that he's right. Not only to know that he's right, but to know that _Cassian_ is aware, as well. No time would be long enough. For a man who has known only war—who has been on the disadvantaged side of that war for most of his life—peace is very hard to process.

Stepping forward, Chirrut gropes for and finds Cassian's shoulder, holding tight. "I don't know if this is the best time for them to consider decommissioning forces. Baze shares some of your worries, certainly. But I do know that it is _right_ to start talking about it—to start thinking about it. The Emperor is dead. The Empire has surrendered. The war is over."

Cassian leans forward, and Chirrut adjusts his stance, allowing his captain to move into his personal space. He isn't surprised when Cassian's head comes to rest against his shoulder, or by how hoarse Cassian's voice is when he speaks. "It doesn't feel like the war is over. When there are places like Cinadar, people like Oothen... what if the Senate are doing what they did at Kashyyk? Just... hoping that if they ignore a problem, ignore the fragments of the Empire, they'll go away. Leaving people trapped."

"Kashyyk is free now." Chirrut, too, wishes it hadn't taken so long—wishes it hadn't taken people ignoring orders, from foot-soldiers up to General Organa, to finally see the Wookies freed. "And if we find other places like that, other places we can help, you know I will be at your side fighting in a heartbeat. But you weren't sent to Kashyyk, Cassian. No one was."

"They're sending me—us—places like that now."

Chirrut can't tell if it's stubbornness or fear that has Cassian's body tense against his, but he rubs gently at the back of Cassian's neck anyway, hoping to help him relax. There are many things he could say—that Cassian won't survive continued missions like this. That Cassian has earned a chance at peace—that those Cassian loves more than deserve a chance to experience peace with him. He would likely have a greater chance of success with the latter tactic, Cassian responding better to others' needs than to his own... Cassian perhaps _understanding_ others' needs better than he does his own, after years of suppressing and ignoring his own.

It feels too much like weighing more guilt onto the shoulders of a man who already staggers under the weight of years' worth of burdens, so Chirrut tries a different tactic. "Don't you think, if the New Republic succeeds in its mission, the Empire will have less and less influence even in those places where little footholds remain? If we create the society that we are trying to—"

"You know as well as I do that propaganda is one thing the Empire is very good at." Cassian shakes his head. "Who's to say that people on Imperial controlled planets will hear anything remotely truthful about the New Republic, even if we succeed in making it what we want it to be?"

Cassian's words are heavy, weighted with years' worth of sorrow and sacrifice. Chirrut sighs, embracing his friend in lieu of having words to salve over his wounds. "Endings are always hard and messy. Perhaps because they aren't truly endings, but instead new beginnings, continuing middles... a thousand parts of a complex, never-ending story. But the Force will be with us through it all, and we will not allow all the good we have done to come apart."

Straightening, Cassian clasps Chirrut's shoulder in turn. "Nobody can promise that. But we'll stay vigilant. And... for some people... perhaps it would be good to get out of the war."

And that, perhaps, is the real crux of Cassian's sleeplessness. Because he knows his team, and he knows his lovers, and he knows that for at least one if not three of them the promise of peace and a civilian identity is tantalizing. "If Bodhi leaves, would you follow him?"

Cassian doesn't answer, though the pace of his breathing increases noticeably.

"If Bodhi, Jyn and I were to muster out?" It's not quite a fair question, because Chirrut knows that if he leaves Baze will follow. If he can find a quiet place, and funding, and perhaps rebuild a bit of what was lost... but those are thoughts for tomorrow. For tonight he is trying to separate those who will actually consider pursuing a civilian life from those who would continue to fight—for hope, for justice, for vengeance, from sheer inertia.

Cassian continues to stand very still, as though the questions—the future that he fought so hard for—will just go away if he doesn't acknowledge them. Then he gives his head a vigorous shake that transmits through his whole upper body. "It doesn't matter right now. The act might not pass anyway."

Then Cassian is heading back towards their quarters, movements quick, almost aggressive.

Chirrut tilts his head towards the ceiling. "Even if the Act doesn't pass, it's a question we have to answer someday, captain."

"Colonel." Cassian calls the correction quietly back over his shoulder. "We should get sleep while we can."

Chirrut sighs and follows Cassian back to their quarters, curling in close to Baze. Force help those who don't know how to leave the war behind.

And Force help those who love them, because they're all going to need assistance over the next few months.

XXX

The offer arrives before news of the official vote breaks.

Jyn reads it through twice, not quite believing what she's seeing. Her fingers don't start trembling until she's most of the way through her second re-read, when it becomes clear that this is _real_ , that she's actually understanding what the communique is trying to tell her correctly. "Bodhi. Cassian. You should... you should check for any new messages."

Both men immediately reach for their own datapads, and Jyn watches as Bodhi's expression shifts from puzzled to delighted. Cassian's remains puzzled, but that could just be because he's having a hard time processing what he's reading, like she did at first.

"This..." Bodhi has jumped to his feet, is busy pacing their quarters with increasingly frantic steps as he stares down at the words on the page. "This is amazing. Look at the offer—I'm reading that correctly, yeah?"

Moving over to Bodhi's side, Jyn scans her eyes down the document displayed, making sure the numbers aren't different. "You're reading that correctly. Especially given the continued medical care, no matter where we decide to settle... we could go _anywhere_. We could do..."

Jyn has to stop, hitting a brick wall of uncertainty. If she musters out, what _is_ she going to do? Her life hasn't been Cassian's, but it's never been normal, either. She knows how to hide her identity. She knows how to be a thief and a rebel and a soldier. What is she supposed to do with those skills in something approaching a normal life?

The only time she can clearly remember living as a normal civilian is with her father and mother on Lah'mu.

Well... it's not like her father was meant to be a farmer, either, and he made _that_ work for years. Surely there's something Jyn can find for herself to do, too. (Maybe she can follow in her father's footsteps, set up a little farm of her own. Would that help set his ghost to rest, knowing that she not only ensured the weapon he created was destroyed but went on to build the kind of life he would have wanted for her?)

"We could go anywhere! We could do anything!" Bodhi's arms are suddenly around her, and Jyn finds herself being spun in a circle.

A laugh squeezes its way out of Jyn's throat, and if there's an edge of hysteria there, it's mainly one of joy. This means it's all real. This means the war is really _over_. Saw's dream has been fulfilled. This means they can _stop_ , finally. This means she won't get another call telling her one of her boys has been grievously injured—she won't ever have to _watch_ them be grievously injured. It means—

"Can I see what you're looking at?" Cassian's voice is calm and quiet.

Too calm, too controlled, and Jyn turns to look at him, her heart sinking down towards the floor. "You didn't get an offer?"

Cassian holds his datapad out to her, and Jyn exchanges it for her own, letting him read through her offer—the form offer that has had her name inserted into the proper places—while she searches in vain for anything that looks similar among Cassian's data files.

Nothing.

"I don't..." Bodhi is standing at Jyn's side, looking over her shoulder. "I don't understand. We're all part of the same team. Why..."

"Maybe it just hasn't come yet." Jyn returns Cassian's datapad to him, rage and despair twining together into a storm in her chest. "Maybe they're sending them out in batches."

"Maybe." Cassian smiles, but it's not an honest expression. "It wouldn't matter, anyway. I won't be taking the offer even if I get it."

It's the first time any of them have spoken definitively about their plans, and Jyn closes her eyes, breathing deeply to try to get the anger under control before she says something all of them will regret.

When she opens her eyes again, Bodhi has settled next to Cassian, is reaching out to gently touch his knee. "Did you actually read the offer?"

"I did." Cassian's arms are crossed across his chest, hugging himself tightly, but he doesn't flinch away from Bodhi's touch. "Looking for volunteers to fulfill the terms of the Military Disarmament Act. Honorable discharge. Full benefits for life, including medical care and a pension. Transport to whatever world or satellite one decides to settle on."

Jyn debates where to sit and eventually settles on Cassian's other side, leaving a little bit of space between the two of them. "And that's not enough?"

"Does it matter?" Cassian's shoulders rise and fall, his eyes on the floor in front of them. "It's not an option for me."

"It matters _why_ it's not an option." Bodhi's whole body tenses, his fingers digging into the fabric of Cassian's pants. "If it's just a matter of the documentation—we can talk to someone about it, see what happened. It might have been just a mistake, or like Jyn said maybe yours just hasn't come yet. Something easy like that we can—"

"Even if I get the offer I'm not taking it." Cassian's voice wavers a little bit this time. "I belong _here_. Doing my job. I can't—"

"Your job almost killed you. Again." Jyn keeps her hands on her own thighs, not trusting herself to touch Cassian right now, with the storm still raging in her chest.

Cassian raises startled eyes to her. Why is he so surprised? Did he think it didn't _matter_ now? That because he's made a good recovery the fact that he almost died should be irrelevant? "We've all sustained injuries over the course of the war. It's not like you and Bodhi haven't ended up in med bay yourselves."

"Yes, but..." Jyn's hands clench into fists. "How long are we supposed to live like that? How long do we keep playing those odds? You're getting older, Cassian."

"I'm only thirty-one." Cassian's expression closes down a little—because he doesn't like being reminded that he's a few years older than Jyn, or because he knows where she's going with this?

"Any time there's an abrupt temperature or pressure change your ribs hurt where they've been broken. Same with your right wrist." Jyn gestures towards the old injuries, though she still refrains from touching them. "I'm guessing other injuries hurt, too, though you don't usually complain about them. You've collected enough scars that you might start being recognizable just from those alone."

Cassian's jaw has set, though he's watching her, unblinking. "Some of those could be corrected, now that we've got better facilities. It shouldn't be a problem."

"Your time for the mile run's up fifty-six seconds from last year, which was already up fourteen seconds from the year before." Jyn sees the little flinch that Cassian tries to hide—did he think they hadn't noticed? From the way Bodhi's eyes are widening, maybe he hadn't. "Your dead lift ability is down almost ten pounds over the same two years, and your marksmanship accuracy is down six percent."

"Everything is still well above acceptable parameters." For all that Cassian manages to keep his voice quiet, his accent is thickening, giving away his agitation as much as the wild, caged gleam in his eyes does. "New Republic military acceptable parameters for field work, even. It's not just the Rebellion's desperation letting me serve. And small variations like that could just _be_ variations, deviations from the norm. Maybe I didn't sleep as well before my physical this year, or—"

"Or maybe you're getting tired." Jyn reaches out, placing her hand over one of Cassian's, prying his fingers away from his jacket to hold them tight. "Maybe twenty-five years' worth of injuries are starting to catch up with you."

Cassian gives his head a small shake, a stubborn negation. "I'm only thirty-one. I'm not old."

"But you've been doing this since you were six." Bodhi is leaning close to Cassian, his hand still grasping tight to Cassian's leg. "You've already given so much... how much longer do you think you have to do this?"

"As long as there's still an enemy out there." Cassian stands, pulling himself away from their touch, and Jyn wonders if she pushed too far. It's rare for Cassian to deny himself physical contact when they're all together. "As long as I can still be useful to the New Republic, this is what I need to do."

Jyn stands, facing him squarely. "And the rest of us?"

"That's..." Cassian hesitates, eyes flicking to Bodhi, still sitting on the edge of the bed. "That's for you to decide."

"I can't." Bodhi is looking down at his hands, his whole body starting to shake. When he raises his eyes to look at Cassian, the expression on his face leaves Jyn torn between hugging Bodhi and decking Cassian for being an idiot. "I can't stay here forever, Cassian. I can't be a soldier forever. When it was needed... when we were the only things standing between the galaxy and the horrors the Empire wanted to inflict... I did what was necessary."

Bodhi's voice breaks, the last words a declaration and a plea all at once. Jyn settles next to Bodhi, in the warmth that Cassian left behind, and puts an arm around his shoulders. "We've done good. _You've_ done good."

"You have." Cassian doesn't move from his spot standing in the center of the room. "And I'm not saying you need to stay, Bodhi. Some people are meant for this life; others aren't. You've been brave, and we've done some incredible things together. But if it's time for you to move on... it's a good offer. Take it. Go somewhere wonderful, and..."

Cassian stops just where Jyn had, unable to articulate exactly what life beyond the rebellion could be. Unlike Jyn, he doesn't bother trying. He just turns and strides to the door, head down, running away from them and the future that they could try to forge.

"Cassian!" Bodhi tries to scramble after him, but Jyn holds him back. Turning to her with frantic eyes, Bodhi gestures towards the door. "We have to bring him back. We have to talk more about this. He can't—this isn't _right_. We need—he needs—he _deserves—_ "

"Give him some time to cool off." Jyn needs some time to cool off, too, to ensure she's not going to do something stupid and counter-productive like slug the man she desperately wants to have stay with her forever. "Some time to think it over. He's not going to go far, you know that."

A soft sound that is almost a whimper slides from Bodhi's mouth, but he relaxes a little bit in Jyn's arms, settling back onto the bed next to her. "I just... don't understand. I thought he'd be happy. We _won_. _He_ won. Why is it so hard for him to accept?"

"Because he doesn't remember a time before the war. He doesn't know what peace looks like, and if this is really it. And neither... neither do I, not really." Jyn closes her eyes, leaning into Bodhi's hold when he puts an arm tentatively around her shoulders. "Is peace supposed to be this messy? Is victory supposed to look so much like being on the Empire's side of the war, trying to consolidate power in disparate systems, spreading propaganda that is at least _mostly_ true to try to bring people to our side? Is this what Saw imagined in his dreams?"

Bodhi flinches, and Jyn hugs him tight, regretting saying Saw's name out loud.

Pressing his lips to her temple, Bodhi sighs. "You and I both lived in the Empire for a while. You as a criminal, but me... I know there wasn't really peace. The rebellion was there the whole time. But this... what's been happening the last few months... it feels like a more honest version of how things were. Of just... people living, and having different opinions about how to go about doing that, and... and things aren't _perfect_ , but at least the systems in place aren't trying to grind out differences or-or reward just the status quo or glorify the destruction of worlds for the betterment of the Empire." Bodhi shakes his head. "It's not perfect, I know, but it feels like... things are at a turning point. A turning point for the _better_. And I think... I'd really like to take the offer."

"I know." Jyn gives Bodhi a tight hug. "And I think you should. I... don't know quite what I'll do yet. But I've never really been a proper soldier. Too insubordinate for that. And while it may have been dismissed a lot in the Rebellion, I doubt the whole New Republic proper-and-trim military is going to have as much patience for it. Plus..." Now it's Jyn's turn to look away, her voice growing hoarse. "This wasn't the life my mother and father wanted for me. I think they'd be _proud_ of what we've done, over the last few years. I am. And I've been happy, with you and Cassian and the team. But it's not..."

"It's not an easy life." Bodhi brushes strands of hair back behind Jyn's ear. "It's frightening. Sometimes awful. Dangerous."

"I want to try something else." Jyn raises her eyes to meet Bodhi's. "I don't even know _what_ else right now, but... something."

"So let's do it." A small, hesitant smile pulls at the corners of Bodhi's mouth. "I don't know where we'll go—Jedha was my home... before—but we'll find _somewhere_ , and we'll do _something_ , and..." Bodhi trails off, his head turning toward the door.

Jyn stands, giving Bodhi's hand a squeeze as she does. "We will. And if we have to figure it out as we go, well, that's never stopped Rogue One before. But first..."

Bodhi trails behind her. "Going after Cassian?"

Jyn shakes her head. "First, figuring out where the fuck Cassian's retirement offer is, because this argument won't stop going in circles until we answer that little conundrum."


	3. Chapter 3

_Chapter Three_

Baze reads the offer out loud, his accent becoming so thick that the Basic is nearly incomprehensible. Chirrut's face remains serene, his eyes staring blindly towards Baze's face, so Baze supposes he's understanding enough.

Setting the datapad aside, Baze stares at the little communique that could change so much. He supposes he should be used to change by now. He and Chirrut have been through enough of it. And it's not like the last five years have been _stable_. But there's been a certain... continuity, a certainty that even when they're split up for missions Rogue One will always get back together again. If there isn't a Rogue One anymore, though... if the military really is going to be cut down to a tenth of its current size...

"Read the bit at the bottom again." Chirrut leans a little closer to Baze.

Baze scrolls through the document. "Which bit?"

"The part about encouraging reclamation of suppressed cultures." A note of tense, eager hope has entered Chirrut's voice.

"That's basically all it says. 'If anyone accepting honorable discharge has suggestions for projects that would help to embolden or reclaim cultures that suffered under Imperial oppression and occupation, it is recommended that they contact'... and then it gives contact information." Baze studies Chirrut through narrowed eyes. "You're not thinking—"

Chirrut raises his hands, smiling guilelessly. "The Jedi were definitely oppressed, and I would say we have a very good argument to make about the Church of the Force and the Guardians of the Whills."

"I'm sure there's going to be a hundred thousand applicants for any funds set aside by the New Republic for things like that." Baze shakes his head. "I'm not that good at paperwork or navigating bureaucracy. Unless I can get us funding by shooting someone, you're on your own."

"Hardly on my own. We have friends who are very good at navigating just this type of bureaucracy." Rocking his staff back and forth, Chirrut looks quite smug and certain.

"If you think Luke's any better at this—"

"I was thinking Cassian, first, and if he's not willing, then Bodhi."

It's actually not a bad idea. Cassian's been involved in the rebellion for so long, he's seen all the little steps that turned it from a ragtag group of disaffected senators and furiously disappointed separatists into the only major force opposing the Empire into this tentative New Republic. He's usually the one who fills out their mission reports when Rogue One goes out as a group, and unlike Baze he doesn't always have to make three or four revisions before it's accepted by an exasperated administrator. And if Cassian's not willing to help, Bodhi was intimately familiar with threading through Imperial administration, and the only thing the Empire did better than oppressing people was properly filling out the paperwork to do it.

"This means it's the end, then." Baze runs his fingers through the air above his datapad. "The war's over. We're leaving Rogue One."

"Just because _I_ wish to leave—feel it's time to leave—doesn't mean you have to agree with me, Baze." There's a gentle chastisement to Chirrut's voice. "I won't drag you off with me."

"But you're not going to stay." Baze watches his love, finding it easy to read this man who has survived impossible odds with him. "Whether you get this funding you're hoping for or not, you're planning on leaving."

"I'm not a soldier, or an assassin." Chirrut rests his cheek against his staff. "I stayed where I was needed and did what was necessary. Now the Force is calling me to other paths—tells me there are other ways that I can assist people."

Is that what they've been doing? Assisting people? Baze supposes it is, in a way. They've been trying to get the Empire's boot off the necks and backs of a hundred oppressed species. Mostly Baze hasn't let himself think about it like that. If he thinks about it as saving people, it makes the possibility of failure more terrible. Usually he just frames it as one of two objectives: getting vengeance against the Empire, or keeping Chirrut safe. The fact that Chirrut likes to throw himself into the center of whatever trouble's currently brewing in their area means the two objectives have a tendency to overlap and coincide, which Baze appreciates even if he grumbles to Chirrut about it frequently.

"What _do_ you want to do?" Chirrut is leaning his head against his staff again, full attention turned to Baze.

"I..." Baze shakes his head. "I'm still one of the best marksmen this operation's ever had."

"You are." Chirrut smiles, though there's a sad, wistful edge to the expression. "Is that what you were thinking about doing? Being a sniper for the rest of your life?"

'The rest of his life' has been such a nebulous concept for so many years now... on Jehda, in the rebellion, there were so many life and death situations that it might only be days or months encapsulated by the phrase. Now, though... if the war is really winding down... Baze gives his head a little shake. He doesn't like thinking too far ahead. It has a tendency to lead to disappointment. "You're still a remarkable fighter, too. Passed your physical with flying colors."

"I did. But I'm not going to stay." Chirrut stretches his legs out, the hem of his robes falling back to reveal incongruous military boots. "I'm not going to get any younger. The fighting will just get harder and harder to accomplish, and if I'm going to be organizing people and paperwork, I'd rather it be for something I have more faith in than the military."

"You want to try to rebuild the Temple." The words come out more accusatory than Baze had intended, but the tone fits the uncomfortable fire building in his chest, so Baze doesn't apologize.

"Create a new Temple, if we can. If I can—as I said, I'm not going to try to make you follow."

As though Baze would let Chirrut go off without him, but Baze doesn't say that out loud. By this point they both know well enough what he's going to do. It's just Chirrut trying to be kind, trying to ensure that Baze knows there are options if he wants them. Baze has no desire to be an administrator either, though, and Chirrut is right. They're both getting older, and between that and the toll of injuries over the years their days of field work are numbered.

"But whether or not I can manage to create something like the Temple again..." Chirrut stands, and it's not often that Baze gets to see him pace like this. The agitation that drives Chirrut isn't nervous or scared or angry, though. It's _hopeful_ , bright and eager, a need to give more than voice to whatever visions are dancing about inside his head. "Luke is called the last of the Jedi, but that's not the truth. The Jedi as they were are gone. Luke is something new, and he'll be finding and teaching a new generation who will bring their own histories and understanding of the Force to their lessons."

Histories and understandings that have grown in the shadow of the Empire, that have been shaped by decades of war and oppression and dictatorship. If it were anyone but Luke trying to gather and teach them... but it _is_ Luke, and if there's anyone in the universe who can rival Chirrut for stubborn faith and optimism it's the ridiculously powerful fly-boy. So Baze keeps quiet about those fears, allowing Chirrut to continue uninterrupted.

"We can create somewhere for those who want to learn about the Force to gather." Chirrut practically glows with the joy of whatever he sees. "Somewhere to teach about the connections between us all. Somewhere that can be a place for Luke to come, if he needs to find peace or talk with others who understand what he can see, but also for others to come and understand what the Jedi truly are. A place of balance and peace, with a Kyber crystal singing at the heart of it..."

Chirrut comes to stand at Baze's side, and Baze reaches out, taking his love's hand. " _You_ could teach, if you want. If you think anyone would be interested in coming and listening to you. Me... I'm never going to wear the robes again, Chirrut. It's not who I am anymore."

Chirrut doesn't nod, but he does clench his fingers around Baze's, a gesture of acknowledgment. Maybe not an acquiescence that Baze is _right_ , but at least acknowledgment that this is Baze's intention, and no argument against him.

"There are other things I could do, though." Baze allows himself, very briefly, to think back to the years before the Temple fell. A great deal of work is needed to keep a place like that functioning. "Plus I can be your security detail."

Leaning forward, Chirrut presses a kiss to the top of Baze's head. "I never feel safer than when I know you're at my side."

"Then that's settled, then." Baze flips back through the communique, looking once more at the monetary figures. If they don't get some kind of grant, building a temple is right out of the question, but renting a little place for Chirrut to teach from... that they should be able to do. "Should we talk to the others about it?"

Chirrut nods. "I think we should. And talk to them about their plans, because I suspect these are going to be difficult decisions for some of them."

A sigh slips from Baze's mouth. Bodhi will be ecstatic about the possibility of getting out. The pilot is brave, and does what's needed, but it takes a strong effort of will on his part every time they go into danger. Being able to be _just_ a pilot again... it will be a good thing for him. And Jyn... she could stay. She handles the pressure and the tension of the jobs just fine. But Baze doesn't think being a soldier is really what she's meant for. _Maybe_ a mercenary, someone who can pick their own jobs, can walk away if something doesn't feel right without having to balance political repercussions, but not a soldier. If given a chance to become something else, though, what would it be? What kind of wings could she grow if allowed to try other paths?

For both of them one of the harder parts of the process will be dealing with Cassian. He isn't going to want to accept any offer, no matter how well-intentioned or fair. The war is in his blood and his bones, etched into him with every scar and every invisible old wound. Can he even imagine a life and world without it? Baze finds it difficult, and Baze lived a life of peace for quite a while before the Imperials tried to steal everything he ever loved. Plus... well, there's a complication that they really should have noticed and started planning for ahead of time. "It's not going to be just stubbornness or inertia or a self-sacrificing ideal that keeps Cassian here, you know."

Chirrut's brow wrinkles, and then clears as understanding dawns.

Baze spells out the problem anyway, hoping Chirrut will see an obvious answer. "K-2 won't have been given one of these pretty offers. He's a droid. Property. He belongs to the New Republic military."

"He belongs with Cassian." Stubborn determination spreads through Chirrut's whole body, tensing his face, tightening his hands on his staff. "All you have to do is watch them to know that, or ask K-2 if you're left in any doubt."

" _I_ agree with you." Baze lifts one hand, palm up in a helpless gesture. "Doesn't change what most people believe, though, or the bureaucracy we'll have to work around."

"Well, then. Best we start working on it." Chirrut turns towards the door.

Baze clambers to his feet, trailing after Chirrut. "Do you have any idea who we should even ask about this?"

"Someone with more authority than we have." Chirrut doesn't slow down or turn around.

"That's a pretty large list."

"The Force will guide us." The serenity in Chirrut's voice probably goes along with a grin that Baze can't see as he trails behind.

"And if it doesn't?" Baze sighs.

"We see what Cassian and K-2 want." Chirrut waves his free hand in a dismissive gesture. "Have we ever let the rules stop us from doing what's right?"

Raising his eyes to the ceiling, Baze gives his head a little shake. Well, he fell into the rebellion more than properly joining. Perhaps it's only right that instead of an honorable discharge he instead steals a droid and runs away.

He's done dumber things in his life for less important reasons, after all.

XXX

K-2 allows Cassian to sulk for a little over an hour before he decides to push his human into facing his problems. It's long enough for Cassian's heart rate to return to normal, for his fast, jerky motions to return to the smooth coordination that K-2 is used to. It's hopefully not long enough for him to start being stubborn or ridiculous.

Moving to stand over Cassian, who is currently sitting on a crate and picking at the edge with his left hand, K-2 crosses his arms in front of his chest. "What did you and Jyn fight about?"

Cassian starts, looking up at K-2 guiltily. "Why do you think I fought with Jyn?"

"It's possible you fought with Bodhi or one of the others, but most likely if something's going to be shouted about it's you and Jyn who do it." This isn't always a bad thing, either. K-2 has known Cassian for a long time, and he thinks that sometimes it's better for his human to be pushed into admitting or vocalizing things that he doesn't necessarily want to. "Was it with Jyn or with someone else?"

"It wasn't a fight. Not really. Just... a discussion about the future." Cassian shrugs, though he still isn't looking up at K-2's faceplate. "Who says anything went wrong during it?"

"You're here, watching me do boring and menial tasks, when you could be spending time being tactile and grossly affectionate with your team." K-2 reaches out to poke Cassian's left shoulder. (He knows that Cassian's right side has healed, but there is a part of him that still remembers the look and feel of Cassian's blood once more bright against K-2's dark metal, and it is easier to push those looping memories aside if he doesn't interact with Cassian's right arm.) "Hence there has been some kind of disruption in the team."

"There isn't going to be a team for much longer." The words rush out of Cassian like water down a cliff, and a look flickers across his face, there and then gone, that holds more agony than K-2 thinks he's seen in years. "They're going to leave. Bodhi. Chirrut. Baze." Cassian swallows. "Probably Jyn, too."

K-2 freezes in place, the information taking more processing power than it should. Why does he find it so difficult to imagine life without Rogue One? The team has only been around for the last five years. "Where... do you think they're going?"

Cassian gestures with his right hand, a sweeping, scattering motion. "Wherever they want. The Act passed. They've got pretty little discharge offers. Bodhi will probably go be a pilot somewhere. Chirrut... I don't know. But he's not going to stay here, I'm almost sure of it, and if he goes Baze will."

K-2 studies Cassian, taking in the slump of his shoulders, the way his eyes keep trailing down towards the floor. "You don't intend to take the offer yourself?"

"I didn't receive one." A tiny, bitter smile takes up residence on Cassian's face. "I'm meant to be here. But even if I had... what am I going to do that I'll be better at than this?"

"I don't know. We've had little opportunity to test your skills outside missions." Reaching out, K-2 gently puts his hand against Cassian's left shoulder. "But given how adaptable you are within mission parameters, I suspect there are many things you would be good at."

Cassian looks up at K-2. "Like what?"

The question could easily be considered hopeless or bitter, but K-2 suspects it's more searching—that Cassian really _wants_ to have answers. So K-2 considers what they've done, and begins spinning out scenarios. "There's the obvious options—join a local militia, police force, or security team. You have the talents and qualifications. There's less obvious options. You have very good data management capabilities. You could easily apply yourself to technological interfaces, data collection, data maintenance. Librarianship or research assistant are possibilities."

Cassian's eyes have widened, his body straightening at least a centimeter beneath K-2's hand.

Had it really been so difficult for the human to apply his skills and abilities to non-military situations? Sometimes K-2 wonders exactly what goes on inside organic neural networks to make them both so intelligent and so foolish. "If you don't wish to stay, Cassian, there are options."

Rising from his perch, Cassian begins pacing the room, prowling between bits of mechanical equipment that need repair. "Again, I don't even have an offer. But if I did... it's not _just_ figuring out what I'd do. It's... it's whether it's _right_ for me to think about leaving. And it's..." Cassian's eyes flick to K-2 and then away.

K-2 suspects he knows what the look is supposed to indicate, but he takes several seconds to process alternate possibilities, not wanting to leap to conclusions that appear selfish. "Are you concerned about... me?"

Cassian stops pacing, looking up at K-2 squarely. "You're considered New Republic property. If I muster out..."

"Your concern is noted and appreciated." Cassian's concern causes K-2's circuits to feel overcharged, bright and vibrant with energy. "But there are more productive things you could be doing with it. Like attempting to find a way to purchase me."

"Would they even _let_ me?" Running a hand through his hair again, Cassian begins pacing once more. "You're not just an astromech or a helper droid. You're an Imperial enforcer. They'll want to know what I want you for. Plus... what would you do? Assuming we _did_ just decide to abandon all of this, follow Jyn and Bodhi who knows where—"

"I could do similar things to you. I am quite capable of both security work and data analysis."

Cassian smiles. "You hate having to just work on data or be on stand-by, which is most of what you'd be doing in those situations. How often have you told me you're programmed for much more useful tasks?"

"It will be different if the tasks for which I am best suited are no longer performed." K-2 returns to the atmospheric decontamination unit that he has spent the better part of the day arguing with. "If there is no need for enforcement, then I will find other tasks that satisfy me."

"Other tasks that satisfy..." Cassian repeats the words, trailing after K-2.

Does he understand that they're meant to apply to himself as much as to K-2? K-2 thinks he does, and he hopes it gives the human something more productive to consider.

Kneeling down next to K-2, Cassian picks up another piece of defective equipment. "Mind if I help out for a bit?"

"It will certainly be more useful than you sitting and sulking while I work." K-2 shifts the tool collection so that it's sitting between himself and Cassian.

They work in silence, but there's nothing strained in it. K-2 hopes that means that Cassian is truly contemplating what his options are for the future—whether he _wants_ to stay or whether he simply feels he _should_ stay.

What does K-2 want? The only life he has ever known has been with the rebellion. He _remembers_ another life—remembers the simplicity and reassurance of his Imperial programming—but that life has long since evaporated, and K-2 doesn't think he would want it back anyway.

To be a civilian... to follow Cassian somewhere not because they have a mission of espionage or assassination but because they _want_ to go there...

K-2's not sure exactly what kind of life it would be, but if Cassian wants to pursue it, K-2 will find a way to follow him.

XXX

Mon Mothma hesitates outside the door to her office, listening to the steadily rising cadence of the voices within.

"—just saying that you need an appointment—"

"Just saying I _don't_ , and if you'll just let me see the good senator this can be over with before anything has to escalate further."

"Is that a threat?" There's a calm to her secretary's voice that tells Mothma things have progressed about as far as she should let them.

If it were anyone else shouting unexpectedly in her office, she might have just continued walking, allowing security to see them out until they could come through proper channels. Perhaps it's not fair of her, but certain people—people she feels responsible for, in one way or another—she can't subject to that.

Besides, escorting Jyn Erso out is pretty much just guaranteed to put her in a worse mood when she returns.

Sweeping into her office, Mon Mothma smiles at the young woman. "Captain Erso. It's been a while. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Jyn turns away from the secretary, falling in at a vaguely military attention. It's a reminder of how much the last five years have changed things, because the Jyn she first met would never have shown deference to anyone or bothered with the appearance thereof.

Or at least... not without having done the calculations to make sure that it would get her what she needed. Jyn _had_ been able to speak eloquently and diplomatically when needed, and Mothma reminds herself firmly not to forget it.

"The Military Disarmament Act was your brainchild." Jyn takes a step forward, Bodhi Rook following behind her like a leash is tied between Jyn's shadow and his feet, though he looks like he'd rather be anywhere else.

Mon Mothma sighs. Of all the people she would have expected to approach her like this, to complain about what's _finally_ a finished deal, Erso wasn't one of them. "Come into my office. We can sit and talk."

Jyn and Bodhi follow her, Jyn throwing herself into one of the guest seats and glaring across at Mothma. "How are you deciding who's getting these pretty little discharge offers and who isn't?"

Bodhi settles in a little more hesitantly, perching on the edge of the chair as though he's expecting to be scolded at any moment. "We've just got a little problem, you see, because Cassian didn't receive an offer, and you _can't_ make it to the rest of Rogue One and not Cassian, it's not—"

Jyn's hand on the pilot's hand stops the flow of words, though it doesn't stop the furious, hopeful glare that the man is suddenly leveling at her.

Leaning back in her chair, Mothma closes her eyes and tries to process what the two of them just threw into her lap. "I'm not part of the military, except insofar as the military answers to the Senate. All we did was give the order that forces be trimmed over the next standard galactic year. We left the who and how up to the discretion of military command." Opening her eyes, Mothma studies the two soldiers—rebels— _heroes—_ sitting in front of her. "Have you talked to someone in command about this, Captain Erso?"

Jyn gives her head a little shake. "I don't like repeating myself, and I still don't always... get along very well with command."

That's a bit of an understatement. Draven didn't like Jyn from the beginning, and though he's been forced to grudgingly admit her competence and ingenuity, he's never quite forgiven her for the changes she initiated in Colonel Andor. "What is it that you want me to do?"

"Make sure that your soldiers are being treated fairly." Jyn leans forward, and the fire that has been in her from the beginning flares bright in her eyes. "You can't let them keep people like Cassian prisoner. He's done enough. If he wants to leave, he should have that opportunity."

"I agree." Andor had been one of the soldiers Mothma was thinking of when she drafted the bill. How many others are there like him out there—people who have known more war than peace, people who have sacrificed body and soul and sometimes sanity for the rebellion? If they really are attempting to keep people like him from being part of the discharges, if they're trying to forcibly separate a team that Mothma knows even from a distance has become family over the years... she draws a breath, feeling the cold, slow-burning fury that has sustained her throughout this fight rekindling. "I'll see what I can do to assess and correct the situation. And if I'm not able to completely redress your concerns... I trust you'd be happy to address both superiors and the press if necessary?"

Jyn grimaces. "For definitions of happy that include 'would prefer to shoot them but will do whatever's needed to fix this'."

"Good. Then I'll be in touch." Standing, Mothma gestures for them to follow her back into the anteroom. "Though... one quick question, if you don't mind. Was I the first person you approached about your problem?"

"More or less." Jyn shrugs. "My first idea was Senator Organa, but apparently she's busy having a baby or something like that."

"Right." Mothma suppresses a smile. "I'm glad you trusted me enough to come to me, and as I said, I'll do my best to help. But next time, please call ahead."

Jyn scowls. "I don't understand why the need for so much security if the war's really over."

Mothma's fingers automatically clench. The nerves that had been damaged in the assassination attempt have healed well, but she doesn't think she'll ever fully forget the sensation of willing her body to do something and it being simply unable to comply. "Just because the war's over doesn't mean everyone accepts that. But I think the battles ahead will be better fought with words and kindness than weapons and military crack-downs."

"I hope you're right." Jyn shrugs. "Whether you are or not... I think it's time for some of us to move on."

"You're all leaving, then?" A little pang of loneliness runs through Mothma's chest. She hasn't been close to Rogue One—she isn't as good as Leia is at balancing all her roles—but she's followed them, feeling a certain... responsibility for the team she indirectly helped to create.

Jyn reaches back to take Bodhi's hand. "I don't know. But we deserve a chance to decide together."

Mon Mothma nods, ushering the two soldiers out before returning to her desk and trying to decide who she wants to call first.

XXX

"You want to buy an Imperial enforcer droid." The woman in charge of the droids sounds far more incredulous than Chirrut thinks is really necessary.

"Not myself personally, not necessarily, but we do need to know what steps we'll need to take to do so." Chirrut leans on his staff, smiling pleasantly. He can feel Baze's presence looming behind him. "Or to help a friend do so, and about what kind of cost we'll be looking at."

There is something fundamentally wrong about them having to buy K-2SO. Chirrut hasn't spent as much time considering droids and their situation as he should have, he thinks. They are sentient, intelligent creatures, clearly capable of emotional attachment. The fact that they are made by the hands of other species' doesn't change that. The fact that they don't seem capable of creating a connection to the Force doesn't change that. The fact that they can be reprogrammed doesn't change that—it takes more time and is less predictable, but Chirrut has seen enough people reprogrammed over the years to know that stability of ideals and identity isn't as certain as most people believe.

If bartering for their friend's freedom is what they have to do to protect both K-2 and Cassian from unnecessary injury, though, Chirrut is quite capable of managing it.

"You can't just buy an Imperial enforcer droid." The woman speaks slowly, as though Chirrut were a child making an unreasonable request.

"He has been a part of our team for several years, and I know it's possible to take New Republic droids with you when you retire." Chirrut lifts his chin a bit. "We're friends of Skywalker's, and I know he took his astromech with him."

"Skywalker is Skywalker, and he brought the astromech with him in the first place. Technically it was always his, just on loan to the Republic. We did repairs in return for its use."

"Cassian Andor was the one who brought K-2 to the rebellion." Baze's rumbling voice provides the information, though Chirrut can tell from his tone that he doesn't expect it to change much.

"Andor... I know that name. Rogue One, right? The intelligence officer?"

Chirrut sighs. It will be good for Cassian when he's able to leave that label behind, but for the moment it could be useful. "The very one."

"If he brought the droid..." The woman's voice shifts, picking up suspicion. "Wait, did he bring it in as part of one of his missions?"

After a few seconds Baze gives a tired murmur of assent.

"Then that's something different. If he was on a New Republic mission, anything he brought back is New Republic property." The woman is gesticulating, and Chirrut suspects it would annoy him if he could see what she was doing. "Do you know how dangerous an Imperial enforcer droid could be? Depending on what programming's been left in it, it could cause a lot of damage in the wrong hands. That's exactly the kind of weapon we need to be careful when handling. If you wanted, maybe we could arrange for him to be transferred to a local peacekeeping group where you settle? Something where we can be certain—"

"K-2 isn't a threat and he doesn't need to be treated like one." Baze shifts, stepping forward with a heavier gait than necessary.

Chirrut reaches out, snagging Baze's sleeve. It doesn't actually take any pressure to stop Baze, but it will look good to the woman they're arguing with. "What if our droid friend doesn't wish to continue to participate in military or pseudo-military endeavors?"

"Well... I mean... that's what enforcer droids are programmed for." The woman sighs, and Chirrut can hear her shifting, the press of skin against skin as she touches some part of her face. "This is about Andor's droid, isn't it? I remember now. He used to stay with it at weird times, treated it more like a pet than a droid..."

It's not _quite_ accurate. Cassian treats K-2 like a person he trusts implicitly—which, for Cassian, constitutes a very short list. But if it helps this woman to think of K-2 as a pet, so be it.

The woman sighs again. "Look, let me talk to some people about the situation. I'll see what we can arrange for you, all right? Just give me a way to contact you."

Baze provides contact information for them both, and Chirrut walks away feeling satisfied. Some people would say that they're going to look into it and then not do anything, but from what he had sensed of the woman's intentions they were honest. Hopefully she'll be able to find some method for them to achieve what they need.

If she doesn't, they'll find another way around the problem. Chirrut is certain of that.

XXX

Cassian spends the evening with K-2. It's not something he does frequently anymore. Usually if he's on base and any of the others are, as well, Cassian stays close to his team. He _used_ to spend... probably more time than he should have with K-2 and the other droids. The droids don't need sleep, though they will power down for recharging or for processing large data loads. They never seemed to mind if Cassian curled up somewhere to rest, though, and Cassian usually felt... safe. Welcomed. Not judged, not expected to interact with others as though everything were normal when he might have been doing... well. When he was doing his job just a day or so ago.

There's still the feeling of safety and familiarity, though it isn't as comfortable as it once was. Jyn's right. Years of pushing himself as far as his body can go have started to take their toll.

There's also a sense of something... missing. Cassian is still comfortable here with K-2, listening to and watching the mechanical work, assisting where he can. But there's a niggling sense that this isn't _quite_ where he belongs anymore... that he's running from something.

It means he's tired and sore when he's called to General Draven's office early the next morning, but he tries not to let either fact show in his expression or stance. His relationship with Draven has changed over the years, and Cassian doesn't know whether to say it's been for the better or not. They're both still men who will do whatever's needed for the Republic, but in the days that culminated at Scarif Cassian's definition of necessary and Draven's... diverged. It doesn't usually cause problems, but there's an awareness between them now that Cassian might _not_ complete a mission to Draven's satisfaction, and it... changes things.

(Draven wasn't one of the ones who fought to keep Cassian out of trouble following Scarif. Cassian knows he owes his continued career and the unexpected status as a hero that he received to other people—to Leia Organa, to Mon Mothma, to the sheer force of Jyn's personality and determination. It wasn't that Draven disapproved of Cassian's decision to go to Scarif. It was that Cassian choosing to go to Scarif—Cassian choosing not to shoot Galen Erso—meant Cassian was no longer a predictable and useful tool.)

Draven gestures for Cassian to come in and sit in front of his desk. The war has aged him, adding lines to his face and grey hairs to his head that a normal five years wouldn't have. (Has the war aged Cassian like that, too? He knows he's still handsome—uses it to his advantage still, when they send him out on spy missions—but does he look older than he should?)

Tapping a stylus against a datapad, Draven watches Cassian with a carefully neutral expression until Cassian has settled into his chair. "How are you recovering, Colonel Andor?"

"Quite well, sir." Cassian sits straight and proper, making sure he doesn't favor his right side. "I should be good to return to active duty soon."

"It's not active duty I've been hearing about." Draven grimaces. "You know if there's a problem, you can approach us directly instead of letting your girl go stirring up trouble?"

Cassian blinks. "If you're referring to Captain Erso, I have no idea what she's been up to for the last day. I didn't instigate it, and don't know enough to say if I approve of her actions."

"Of course you don't." The look Draven shoots him is impossible to read. "Anyway... I want you to take a look at this dossier."

The datapad slides across the desk, and Cassian takes it gingerly. There's a picture of a young woman, in her late teens or early twenties, staring out at him with determined, bright eyes.

"Sergeant Einor joined us shortly before the battle of Endor. She's distinguished herself several times since, both for bravery and for ingenuity."

Draven highlights some of the important details that Cassian's skimming of the file are also providing. Cassian nods, scanning through some of the incidents that have resulted in promotion and reward.

After a few seconds' pause Draven continues. "I'm going to make her our new Fulcrum."

Only years of training and practice keep Cassian from fumbling the datapad as he lifts his eyes to study Draven. "Pardon me, sir?"

"She's going to be my new Fulcrum." Draven leans back in his seat. "You're going to teach her over the next four weeks."

Cassian looks up at Draven, repeating the words silently to himself, trying not to let how cold he suddenly feels register on his face. "She's... going to be Fulcrum?"

There have been Fulcrums before him. Sometimes there have even been other Fulcrums between Cassian's own Fulcrum missions, when he's been busy with Rogue One. Cassian knew that eventually he would be giving up the code-name to someone younger. He just... didn't expect it to be so soon.

Draven is watching him, studying his reactions. Is he hoping for Cassian to argue, or for him to simply acquiesce? Instead Cassian does what he has been trained to do in uncertain situations—he looks for more information. "Could I ask why?"

"Because I think she'll be good at the job. She has both the mental and physical acumen for the tasks she'll be assigned." Draven draws a breath, his fingers linking together in front of him. "And unless you have an objection, you'll be training her and giving her access to your contacts. Because you've been one of the best men I've had for over a decade."

"But now..."

"Have you read your own medical discharge report?"

Cassian shakes his head, feeling numb. What could be in there that's so bad it means Draven wants him taken off of field work?

"There's nothing catastrophic, but you're supposed to be on medical leave for at least two weeks." Draven places his hands palm-down on the desk. "But the list of potential future complications from past injuries is getting... impressive, shall we say. It's not to the point that I won't use you for field work, but it's definitely at the point where I think your experience and expertise will be better used in other ways."

"You're going to put me behind a desk." Cassian swallows, keeping his hands still.

"If you stay, yes." Draven shrugs. "But that's not your only option. It was just a clerical mishap, you know. Medical just hadn't gotten done processing where you were. Everyone got one of those ridiculous little offers, including me. And yours should be waiting for you now."

Cassian just stares at Draven, caught off guard by the deluge of information.

"So think about it." Draven stands, leaning towards Cassian. "Train the sergeant. I think you'll be impressed with her. Talk with your... _team_ about your options. And let me know if you're going to be staying or if I need to find someone else to help head espionage."

It's both a job offer and a dismissal. Cassian stands, murmuring out a proper goodbye, and heads towards the door to Draven's office.

It's time he went and talked to the rest of Rogue One again, to see if this new information changes anything about what they want to do.

XXX

Cassian comes to find them during breakfast.

Jyn had been afraid he wouldn't. K-2 told them Cassian was called into Draven's office first thing in the morning, and Jyn could far too easily imagine him haring off on another mission in an effort to avoid talking about what they need to.

It was an unfair assessment, probably, born out of more fear than truth. Cassian is usually reasonable and responsible, and especially given that he was hurt recently, he wouldn't leave them to worry.

They don't talk about anything serious during breakfast. It's one of their unspoken rules. Unless there's something absolutely crucial, breakfast is a chance for them to just be a team together, without having to deal with the war. K-2 sits with them, though he doesn't eat, his glowing golden eyes staying fixed on Cassian.

When they're done with their meal, they retire back to their room. Bodhi sits next to Cassian on one of the beds; Jyn decides to separate herself physically, hoping it will help keep her grounded, and chooses another bed. Baze and Chirrut settle on theirs.

"So." Chirrut smiles, his voice ringing with excitement. "Baze and I are going to try to create a Temple of the Kyber. Any assistance, with paperwork or other matters, would be greatly appreciated."

Cassian sits up a bit straighter, looking surprised. "I could certainly help with paperwork. Do you know where you want it to be?"

"No." Baze answers. "And I'll be happy when he chooses a place, because listening to all these descriptions of planets is enough to drive someone insane."

"I've told you that if you'd prefer to read, or to have me use a non-auditory interface—"

Baze just shakes his head, and somehow Chirrut seems to recognize the motion, quieting with another smile.

Bodhi reaches out to take Cassian's hand in his, running his fingers over Cassian's knuckles. "We've heard... did you..."

Cassian takes Bodhi's hand gently. "I've got an offer, too. Same as yours."

A tight little knot in Jyn's chest unclenches. "And... have you thought about it?"

The look Cassian shoots her very clearly says _of course_. "There are still... issues." Cassian's eyes flick to K-2.

K-2 straightens. "I am an expensive asset, but I am not unaffordable."

Bodhi grins. "If all five of us pitch in, it won't be bad at all."

Baze makes a considering noise. "Being heroes has its perks."

"If it takes a little bit of nepotism to keep the family together until we can change the system, then I'm not above using it." Chirrut is still cheerful.

"And you..." Cassian studies K-2. "You'd want to leave with the rest?"

K-2 looks down at his feet. "I suggested a plan where we tricked you into signing the application for discharge by claiming it was some other report."

Cassian gapes at the droid for a moment. "That would never have worked. Especially if you were involved."

Jyn also glares at K-2, trying not to let it show how tempted she had been by the idea. "Besides, we're more responsible than that."

Bodhi also looks a little guilty, making Jyn feel better about contemplating the suggestion.

Cassian is silent for several seconds, looking down at where his hand is linked with Bodhi's. "If I take the offer... I'm not sure what I'll do. What... _who_... I'll be."

Jyn can't help herself. She moves to Cassian's other side, taking his hand in hers. "You'll still be Cassian Andor. You'll still be part of Rogue One."

"And..." Cassian closes his eyes. "You really think it will be all right? That stopping..."

Chirrut answers before Jyn can think of what to say. "If we see that we're needed again, Captain, then there's nothing to stop us from coming back. Or to stop them from asking us to come back if they need us."

Cassian lets out his breath in a long, silent sigh. "I wouldn't be able to leave for another few weeks. I need to train someone to take my place. But if you'd be willing to wait..."

Baze actually smiles. "They don't want everyone leaving at once, anyway. We'll find a time that works for us all."

"Does that mean..." Bodhi's voice trembles with raw hope. "You'll come with us? We'll go together?"

Cassian gives a slow, hesitant nod. "If that's what everyone wants—"

Anything else Cassian might have said is cut off by Bodhi's whoop of pure joy as he throws his arms around Cassian. Jyn doesn't make quite as much noise, but she also holds Cassian as tight as she can, relishing the feel of his body against hers.

They've survived. They've made it through the war.

And now they're going to see what's on the other side together.

XXX

Cassian looks towards the New Republic base, watching soldiers in trim uniforms move confidently towards their destinations. How often did he wear his proper uniform? It should make the civilian clothes he's in now more comfortable, he thinks, but somehow it doesn't.

He's leaving his job in good hands. The new Fulcrum is everything Draven had promised and more. There's nothing more that Cassian can do for her or for the New Republic.

Unless he stays. Unless he abandons his team and the plans they have spent the last weeks drawing up, decides that his loyalty belongs _here_ instead of with them.

A heavy metal hand falls on his right shoulder, and Cassian looks up at K-2's face plate. The droid is also contemplating the base. "You're regretting your decision?"

Cassian considers and then gives his head a little shake. "Just... hoping it's the right one. Everything feels so... new and strange."

"And we haven't even left yet. Imagine what it's going to be like once we're following Jyn's orders."

A smile tugs at Cassian's lips. "We already do that. It won't be so different, really. And like Baze said... if we think we're needed here, or see somewhere else we can be of use... there's nothing stopping us from coming back."

"We aren't abandoning anything." K-2 sounds certain.

"And you think we'll be good at it?" Cassian gestures back towards the shuttle the others are preparing. "You think we'll be able to be civilians?"

"We already are, so we're certain _able_. Whether we'll be good at it... we'll never know until we try. I, at least, suspect that I am more than adequate to whatever situation may present itself."

"I'm sure you will be, Kaytoo." Cassian smiles, turning towards the shuttle and adjusting his pack on his back.

Jyn's face peers out of the open door. The shuttle is an old model, just about ready to be decommissioned itself, which is how they were able to afford it. "You two ready to go home?"

Cassian relishes the familiar feel of the ramp beneath his feet. Even if most things are changing, some things aren't—like the way his team turns to study him as he moves towards the copilot's seat. "Let's head out, Bodhi."

The smile that Bodhi gives, so full of joy and hope, does more to convince Cassian that this is the right thing to do than any arguments could.


End file.
